The Night of the Fake Hand
by Andamogirl
Summary: Dr. Loveless wants to meet President Grant in the Oval Office for immunity against all of his wonderful and powerful machines, so he can retire to Mexico and come back to the US from time to time without ending up behind bars. But other nations are interested in the diminutive genius and his fabulous inventions.
1. Teaser

**THE NIGHT OF THE FAKE HAND**

 **By Andamogirl**

Author's notes: this story takes place in post-season 4.

Reference to my stories "The Night of the Disguised Assassin" & "The Night of the Outlaw."

I was always fascinated by Artie's alcohol tolerance. In "The Night of the Firebrand", disguised as a trapper called Blue Bird (one of his best disguises and acting in my opinion) he kept drinking whiskey, first in a glass and then directly from the bottle and handled his liquor well.

References to the following episodes: "The Night of the Falcon", 'The Night of the Pistoleros", "The Night of the Lord of Limbo", "The Night of the Surreal McCoy", "The Night of the Skulls", "The night of the Green Terror, "The Night of the Big Blast.","The Night of the Inferno", "The Night That Terror Stalked The Town", "The Night of the Winged Terror (1) and "The Night of The Diva".

Warning: violence, hanging & temporary major character death.

WWW

 **TEASER**

 _Denver, Colorado Territory_

 _The Wanderer_

The bright, orangey sunset had been replaced by myriads of stars lighting the darkening sky when James West entered the parlor car of the Wanderer which was stationed at the Denver railroad yard.

He immediately grabbed his gun, pulling the hammer back when he discovered a man – an old, dirty trapper – sitting cross-legged on the carpeted floor next to the couch.

The older man's shoulders were slumped and his chin was resting against his chest, and his arms were hanging limp on either side of him. He was almost immobile. He had his eyes closed, his palms opened and he was breathing slowly.

Re-holstering his gun, Jim smiled and knelt beside the other man before lifting his chin which was covered with a fake salt and pepper beard.

The disguise was really good, especially the faux bushy eyebrows and putty nose but the Secret Service agent immediately recognized Artemus Gordon, his partner, best friend, companion and surrogate brother. It wasn't the first time Artie used that old-trapper character he called Blue Beard or Dirty Sam – a name he had chosen for their current mission.

He noticed a big purple bruise under the older man's right eye and frowned in concern. Artemus's eye was intact when he had left the train a few hours before.

Placing a hand on Artemus's shoulder, he gently shook it.. "Artie! Come on, wake up buddy! You can't sleep on the floor."

Blinking his eyes opened, Artie smiled. "Oh, hi, Jim. I wasn't sleeping you know, I was just kind of meditating, trying to keep my drunkenness at bay," he drawled.

The younger man frowned in concern as he saw the exhausted look on Artie's face and noticed the strong smell of alcohol on his breath. "Kind of? Then I bet it didn't work?"

Rubbing the nape of his neck Artie shook his head. "Yes, for now, but it won't last, because I lack practice…but it helped me to relax though – maybe too much because now all my limbs are still lax, and I feel like I'm made of jello," he slurred.

Licking his lips, Jim said, "Mmmm… I like jello. I love when you make your famous, and delicious trifle, where the fruit and sponge layers are suspended in orange-juice-flavoured jello."

Smiling Artie said, "I'll make you a trifle with jello once this mission is over." He removed his stinky raccoon fur hat and then ran his fingers through his disheveled hair that he had dyed gray at his temples. Then he continued, "You know me James, when I am undercover, playing a role, I do it thoroughly… hence my dirty and smelly clothes – all of them - and that's why I drank a dozen of glasses of cheap whiskey and a whole bottle of terrible bourbon and knocked out the sheriff and his deputies too, to show the bad guys in the room that I can hold my liquor like a 'true man' and that I'm tough and dangerous and not afraid of lawmen." He touched the bruised spot under his eye and winced. "Ow! And I have other bruises on my chest."

Jim nodded. That explained the bruises, he thought. "What happened?"

The older special agent sighed. "It wasn't my intention to hurt the sheriff and his deputies and I'll present my apologies to them later, after this mission is completed. There was a brawl at the saloon – that I didn't start - and a deputy hit me without doing it on purpose and I spilled my whiskey all over the bar. I thought it would be a good idea to show the bandits sitting there – that I wanted to meet - that no one had the right to spill my liquor, not even lawmen. I pretended to become very pissed off and I knocked out the sheriff and his aides and I wasn't pulling any punches." He chuckled. "I'm fighting pretty well for an old trapper. The bandits immediately loved it and when I told them I was looking for work while the beaver trapping season was over, one of them proposed that I go with them to their camp, to meet their boss. He'd be more than happy to have me join his men he told me." He smiled broadly, proudly. "My plan worked like a charm. After my little show in the saloon, I was hired by a big, big man built like Voltaire – you know, but he's blond and he has a moustache, his name is Clint – Strongman - Coltrane; and strong he is, believe me! He's a mountain – and an ex-Confederate sergeant. Now, I know everything about that group of bandits raiding the gold mines and gold deposits along the river. Pretending I had a woman to 'visit', I left the camp at noon and headed straight back to the Wanderer, telling the man that I would come back the next morning. Eight hours of riding! I have sores on my saddle sores."

Doing his best to keep his glassy eyes opened – feeling the drunkenness he had been fighting for hours come back with a vengeance – Artemus exhaled a long sigh in defeat. 'Hangover here I am!'

Patting Artie's shoulder in a 'good job' gesture, Jim said, "A real seasoned trapper would have collapsed flat on his face to the floor, wrecked and passed out after the 10 shots of whiskey. I'm really impressed, Artie. You can now put 'I can hold two bottles of liquor without blacking out and crumpling to the floor' on your long list of numerous talents."

Hiccupping Artie nodded. "Ya, but I'm not drunk… but intoxicated. Totally wasted. Completely plastered." Then he grinned ear-to-ear and giggled like a child. "But a happy drunk! Didn't happen since… since… err… I don't recall. Do you? B'cause I don't."

Shaking his head, Jim said, "I don't either," then he grimaced in sympathy. "You're going to have such a horrid hangover in the morning and your face will hurt, hurt a lot more – and I'm not talking about the waves of nausea and vomiting…"

Blinking slowly, Artemus nodded. "You're right, Jim, tomorrow morning's hangover is going to be absolutely awful, but it's a small sacrifice y'know." He tried to stand, but failed. "Y' know Oops! Coltrane showed me his camp, he's so proud of it! but I didn't visit the caves…" He moaned. His head was floating from all the alcohol he had absorbed. "I need to lie down and soon, because the room is spinning and I'm gonna to be sick." He rubbed a hand over his tired face. "My legs don't want to cooperate Jim. Help me please?"

Smiling, Jim offered a steady hand to Artie, who took it and pulled his best friend forward. The fake trapper stood up and leant on the younger man.

Artie pulled back, stumbling backward slightly, then forward and nearly face planted.

Jim caught his partner's elbow, keeping him from tipping over. "Alright Artie, I think it's time for you to hit your bed," he said.

The older man nodded. "That sounds like a very good idea." He took a step forward and a pocket knife and a small bear carved in soft wood suddenly dropped to the carpeted floor. "Oops! There's a hole in my pocket," Artie said.

Jim's smile grew. "I'll pick them both up later."

His eyes half-lidded, Artie nodded. "Carving things in wood helps me to relax; you should try it Jim…" He paused to hiccup again. "Instead of spending your time oiling all the guns and rifles here." He smiled lopsidedly. "I love carving small animals and giving them to children. I have others in my chest pocket… I cra… craved… carved them when I was waiting in that saloon, waiting for the bandits to show themselves… Want one Jim?" He burped and giggled. "S'rry." He breathed, his sight going blurry.

Smiling, Jim shook his head. "Maybe later Artie. You need to get some sleep buddy and I'm putting you to bed, let's move."

His ol' noggin here feeling like it was full of tapioca, Artie took a step forward and boneless, swaying on his feet toppled forward. In a flash Jim placed a hand around his partner's waist, steadying him. Then, one arm wrapped around his colleague's waist he headed toward the narrow walkway.

He brought his partner into his private compartment and once the older man was inside, Artie limply plopped down on his bed.

Jim removed the older man's boots, socks and pants, grimacing in disgust as they were filthy and smelly, then he took the other man's jacket and shirt – both in need of a serious washing – throwing all of them in the laundry basket nestled in a niche behind the door, leaving Artie in his dirty and holes-riddled long johns. Then he helped him lie down on the bed before covering him with a blanket.

His eyes closing, Artie reached out, taking Jim's hand in his and whispered, "Thanks J'm. mmmmhhhmmn goo'night… See you in the morning." before drifting off to a deep sleep. Then two seconds later he was snoring softly, mouth opened, still holding Jim's hand.

Marmalade the tawny long haired cat and Aztec the British Shorthair suddenly leaped on the bed and settled on Artie's lap, making themselves comfortable there, snuggling against each other, not at all bothered by Artemus's Dirty Sam appearance and very bad smell as they were used to their owner's various, creative, disguises, bad smells included.

Petting the heads of the two cats who had decided to lick each other clean, Jim said, "Keep an eye on Artie, okay?" The he left the room.

The two furballs meowed a 'yes'.

WWW

 _Much later_

It was nearly mid-day when Artemus mumbled groggily and rolled onto his back and woke up with one killer headache, his eyes burning in the sunlight provided by the window in his room.

He blinked a few times to clear his vision as his stomach roiled queasily. His mouth was dry, tacky and his tongue felt like cotton - still tasting of bad liquor. His limbs felt like lead and his brain was sluggish.

Telltale signs of a hangover, he mused.

He grabbed his throbbing head in his hands and groaned in pain. He lifted his face from his pillow, blinked twice and then cast a bleary gaze around the room, recognizing his sleeping compartment- and not Elizabeth's pink bedroom – pink deshabillé and pink boa. And he was disappointed.

It was just a dream.

He smiled then. If it was a dream, yes, Elisabeth Perkins existed, and loved everything pink, and they had made love a week ago in her brand new pink-colored bed, he thought.

He propped himself up on his elbows, winced and frowned as he tried to pull together his thoughts of what the hell he'd been doing last night and why he felt like he had been run over by a herd a buffalo.

Everything surfaced in his mind in a series of half-one-second-images. 'Yes, two bottles of bad liquor… Never again,' he thought.

He managed to muster the energy to move himself up into a sitting position, slowly, then pushed the blanket to the side and found he was wearing only his long underwear.

He didn't recall taking his clothes off, so Jim had done it. "Thanks Jim," he murmured and pressed two fingers against the side of his head, heavy and throbbing in time to his heartbeat, trying to get the hammer in his skull to stop. But it wasn't possible.

He let out a long sigh. "Oh boy! It's the worst hangover of my life,' he said and grimaced. "Oooh, too loud old boy," he whispered then. He groaned and screwed his eyes shut as a splitting headache suddenly assaulted him in time with a wave of nausea. "Oh boy!" He repeated.

Turning pale, Artemus stumbled out of bed and he ran as fast as he could to the bathroom, opened the lid of the toilet and threw up everything he had in his stomach.

But when the acrid smell hit him, his face turned green and his stomach heaved again. He retched again, mostly bile and then it was over.

Once in front of the sink he brushed his teeth while looking at his reflection in the mirror pondering if he was going to have a bath or a shower, or anything.

He chose to stay as he was. 'First because my personage must look like he has not taken a bath in his whole life, that's why I'm called Dirty Sam and then because I don't want to ruin both my 'perfume' and my make-up,' he mused.

He opened a drawer of the dresser, took out a bottle of a homemade liquid painkiller, removed the cork and swallowed a little of it. "You should feel better with that in a short time," he said to himself. Then he put the bottle back in place.

He left the bathroom and – sans bathrobe – forgetting it as his old noggin' was still filled with tapioca and padded down the narrow walkway. He was a little wobbly, but feeling better.

Still disguised as Dirty Sam – but with his teeth cleaned, Artemus made his way down a narrow passageway to the galley, yawning, scratching his ragged-and-stained underwear covered butt, then he ran his hand through his hair which was sticking out in all directions, trying to discipline them a bit.

He desperately needed coffee – and breakfast, but coffee first.

He entered the galley in order to prepare coffee and breakfast – and was surprised to find Jim there, trying not to burn toast, and it smelled of good freshly brewed coffee.

He said, "Hi Jim! Good morning," and then opened the cupboard and took a cup from inside.

Smiling, Jim replied, "Hi Artie. Good morning. How are you?"

Rubbing his reddened and puffy eyes, Artie heaved a long sigh. "I have a hangover from the seventh circle of hell… other than that, I'm fine," he said before moving toward the stove.

He grabbed the dishcloth which was folded on the table to avoid getting burned and, with his hand wrapped in it, he took the pot of coffee and poured himself a. steaming cup of dark, thick, liquid.

He needed coffee, requiring at least two cups to start his brain - even Jim's bitter-molasses-like-coffee. He took a sip, groaning at how bad it was. Still, he needed it.

Still busy with the toast, Jim said, "Good! For once, I'm going to cook breakfast. What about an omelet and some toast?" Seeing that Artie who could have been a Chef – and who, in his youth had trained and worked in France in great restaurants - was smirking he added, "Don't mock me, Artie. You know that's the only thing I can do properly. I'm more talented with a gun than with a spoon."

His stomach feeling stable Artie began to feel hungry. "But you could turn a harmless spoon into a lethal weapon if you wanted to, Jim," he said." Then his stomach growled.

Moving closer to his best friend Jim pinched his nose playfully. "You stink Artie! you should have called your character 'Smelly Sam' instead of 'Dirty Sam'," then he looked down at the older man's underwear. "It's a nice disguise accessory."

The older man grinned. "Of course I stink. It's part of my disguise. My bad smell is something I concocted with some basic chemicals. I'm not called 'Dirty Sam' for nothing. As for my underwear, I worked hard on it to make it look that way you know."

Jim gave a short laugh. "I know that as a perfectionist you love details so that everything is perfect, but I hope you did not include small animals in this accessory, I mean crabs. Otherwise you go out from f this train immediately and you return only when you are completely clean."

Rubbing his belly, Artie chuckled and then shook his head. "My taste for perfection in my disguises doesn't go so far."

Jim continued playfully, "I'm surprised not to see several flies buzzing around you, Artie. I thought they loved your kind of bad smell."

Artemus chuckled. "I left them outside playing with my horse. Poor Lockpick, I had to make him as dirty and smelly as I am. Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse (Walking Horse in Cheyenne language) who's in the next stall looks at him funny."

Jim nodded. "Why didn't you take Mo by the way? You didn't tell me. He's younger than Lockpick so you usually take him on missions like that where there are long distances to cross."

Sitting on a stool, Artemus replied, "Old trappers like 'Dirty Sam' don't possess splendid Cheyenne warrior horses, but old battered horses, that's why. Except that Lockpick is not old, but older than Mo and he's not battered, he just look like that. I disguised him too, bad smell included, and now he gives me dirty looks – no pun intended."

Placing the golden toast on a plate, Jim replied, "After that mission is complete, the two of you will need a long, long bath – and both in a river! Lockpick because he can't use the bathtub, and you because the smell is going to stay in the bathroom for days!"

Biting into a slice of toast Artie chuckled. "Oh and it's real horse dung I have under my nails…" And he giggled when Jim hurriedly moved the toast away from him.

Marmalade and Aztec started to circle eight's between Artie's legs, meowing for milk. Purring, AG, Jim's black, fluffy cat joined his two comrades, flicking its tail in excitement.

He was hungry too.

WWW

 _Later_

Holding a fourth cup of real, delicious coffee – and not Jim's tar-like beverage - from a new pot he had prepared himself, Artie pointed at a precise point on the map of the Mt Edwards County settled on the work table. "It's here," he said. He took a sip and explained, "Their camp is here, just on top of that rocky hill, inside a series of caves. Coltrane told me there are passages to escape into the surrounding forest, in case lawmen or the cavalry find them. The troops will have to encircle the hill so that no one can escape. We'll need a lot of men, a whole company at least."

Jim nodded. "I'm going to send a message to Colonel Richmond. Fort Bradley can send troops to that hill before mid-day." His face full of concern, he addressed a worried glance to his partner, disguised again in his full 'Dirty Sam' character, a familiar sense of dread was churning in his stomach. He was always worried when Artie headed right into the lion's den like he would soon. The older man was such a magnet for trouble! He mused. "There's no need for you to go there Artie. They will be behind bars tonight."

Artie shook his head. "On the contrary, Jim. My presence there is indispensable. Once there I'll do my best to regroup all the bandits in one unique place – using my little time-bombs to block the other passages – in order to facilitate their capture. I have already filled a whole saddle bag with them. But some of the bandits will try to escape that's why all the troopers have to be posted all around the hill, to catch them." He placed a reassuring hand on his best friend's shoulder. "Don't worry about me, Jim, I'll wait for the end of the whole thing in a safe place. Then we'll search for the stolen gold together."

Not reassured at all by that – because his intuition was sounding alarm bells in his head, Jim said. "I'll be with the troopers, ready to assist you."

Artie headed toward the door. "See you later, Jim. After this mission is complete, I'll take a long bath and prepare us a gourmet dinner."

Jim was too worried to laugh so he barely smiled. "I'm looking forward to it – especially you being clean. That foul smell coming off you is just horrible."

Artemus nodded. "I will," he said with a wink, and then was out the door.

Tbc.


	2. Act One

**THE NIGHT OF THE FAKE HAND**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT ONE**

 _A few hours later in the bandits' camp_

Dirty Sam (Artemus Gordon) dismounted an equally dirty Lockpick covered with mud and dung and reaching up he patted his horse's neck then he ran a hand over the quarter horse's velvety muzzle. "Don't worry, I promise to clean you from the tip of your ears to the end of your tail and to give you a whole bucket of apples when all this is over, to be forgiven," he whispered.

But Lockpick snorted in reply – blowing air over his owner's hand in response still mad at his rider.

The fake trapper then headed toward a group of bandits gathered around a small fire. They were eating beans, chatting and drinking coffee. "I'm late," he said scratching his false bushy beard. And he offered them a fake explanation, "I was busy with a Lady till mid-morning… and she didn't want to let me go," and he had a lewd smile.

The bandits chuckled and offered Artie room beside the fire.

Surprised one of Coltrane's goons said, "And she didn't give you a bath beforehand? Because you're kinda dirty and smelly, old timer.'

Dirty Sam guffawed. "What? A bath? Me? Na, never! Water is for fishes and beavers, not for me. But I wouldn't mind a bathtub filled with whiskey! And Christina didn't care if I was clean or not, what she wanted was me – and my money." He sat on a dead tree trunk, beside a blond man, pulled out a flask of whiskey from the pocket of his fringed jacket spotted with stains and took a big gulp. Then he wiped his lips with the back of his threadbare sleeve and looked around him, curious. "Where are the others?" he asked.

Pouring beans on his plate again, the blond bandit replied, "They left to raid a gold depot in the valley. Coltrane and the other guys should be back in half an hour or so. The boss left us here to guard the camp – and the gold." He elbowed the fake trapper. "So, how was she?"

Dirty Sam grinned. "Redhead, luscious and tireless." He paused as the others grinned. 'I hope they will be back before the cavalry arrives, otherwise the plan won't work. But it gives me the opportunity to place my little time-bombs at strategic places without being disturbed', he thought. "Do you have any good beds here? Christina drained me of my energy last night… and not only that." There was a new lewd smile and to accompany that statement he placed his hand on his crotch.

Grinning, the blond bandit nodded. "Sure, old timer. There's a room in the third cave on the left, you can't miss it. it's the dormitory. It's empty so you can have a quiet nap there."

Dirty Sam nodded. "Thanks lad." Then he stood and headed toward the entrance of the main cave, rubbing one temple as he was tired after a night of intense lovemaking.

Once inside, he explored the first cave (the larger one), noticing crates filled with rifles and others with ammunitions and. sticks of dynamite. Then in the next one, in a corner he spotted four large crates wrapped in chains with locked padlocks sitting next to a group of stalagmites and he knew that they contained the stolen gold. In the third cave was the empty dormitory, and in the fourth, he discovered a natural basin of crystal clear water and, against the wall he spotted buckets and on a table bars of soaps and washcloths. "You have just discovered the bathroom," he said to himself.

He began pulling out time-bombs from the extra inner pockets of his jacket, one by one, and hid them in caves number 3 and 4 where, once exploded, they would provide the most possible damage and would force the bandits to go to cave number 2, the one with the stolen gold and number one, with the mini arsenal – he couldn't destroy – unfortunately - without crumbling the mountain on top.

He had hid his last time-bomb in one of the crevices of a moss-covered wall when he heard someone behind him pull back the hammer of the gun he was holding.

He immediately froze in surprise in time with the blood in his veins as he recognized that noise and he raised his hands and icy chill running through his body.

He slowly turned around and found himself face to face, or rather face to chest with the giant blond leader of the bandits pointing his Colt Single Action Army revolver (SAA) at him. "I can explain everything," he said.

But Strongman Coltrane wasn't interested in hearing it. He suddenly backhanded Artie with his gun, propelling the USSS agent against the wall of the cave.

With a smirk Coltrane watched the older man crumple in a heap on the ground with blood pouring all over his face. "Don't bother to," he just said.

He retrieved the small orange devices he had silently watched the other man hide and observed them for a few seconds. He noticed that the timer was set on 90 (minutes) and put it on 0 (start), stopping it. "Small time bombs, very ingenious," he said. As two of his men framed him curious to see why their leader had knocked out the old trapper, he showed them the explosive gadgets before pocketing them and ordering, "Look everywhere. Everywhere! He probably placed his little bombs in all the caves. Find them! All of them!" And watched his men scatter.

Then he grabbed Artie's arm and dragged the unconscious man outside the 'bathroom cave' heading toward the outside.

Once In front of the rest of his men, he pointed his gun at Artemus lying, inert at his feet and pulled one of the time bomb out from the pocket of his jacket and said, "This man tricked us! I saw him hiding time bombs inside the caves. Old trappers don't have those kind of sophisticated explosive devices – so he's not a trapper! He's an impostor! He's probably a federal agent… or a Pinkerton agent! Anyway, he wanted to create chaos, and kill a bunch of us too, to recover the stolen gold. It means that our hiding place is not safe anymore. His superiors know where our camp is." He pointed at the entrance of the first cave. "Go! Take everything, the boxes of ammunitions, the rifles, the crates and the trunks, everything! I want to leave this place before sunset! You have exactly 30 minutes!"

WWW

Clint – Strongman - Coltrane kicked Artemus in his ribs, hard, twice, for pleasure. The other man didn't react as he was still unconscious and bleeding profusely from a gash to his left eyebrow. "You're so dead, old man," he said with a southern drawl. He grabbed a rope attached to the saddle of a horse and holding Artie by his ankle he dragged him to the foot of the big oak tree which topped the hill. "Your friends will have a welcoming surprise when they arrive, you hanging from the end of a rope," he said, ending his sentence with a cruel smile. He threw the rope above a large, solid branch and made a wide noose with the other end. "I've never hanged a man from the Secret Service or a Pinkerton before, but there's a first time for everything," he added. Then he chuckled coldly, his eyes dark.

Strongman put the noose around Artie's neck and then he pulled on it, progressively lifting Artie off the ground, into the air.

Feeling a terrible pressure on his neck, his windpipe being crushed Artemus brutally and painfully regained consciousness… hissing sharply and choking.

He instinctively clawed at the rope tightening around his neck, sucking in air, struggling to get free. His chest started heaving, searching for oxygen, every inhale whistling through his teeth.

Spots started to appear in his vision as his lungs burnt with screams for air and his eyes flooded with involuntary tears.

The leader of the bandits pulled the fake trapper higher watching him kicking air wildly, gasping for breath, his body twitching with convulsions, his puffy face becoming bluish with lack of oxygen. Then he attached the rope to the trunk of the oak tree.

He watched the older man's struggling ceasing progressively - enjoying each second of the hanging. Then, after a few more seconds Artemus slumped as his chest stopped moving. His body was now dangling limply and boneless from the rope, still swaying slightly, his head lolling to the side.

Coltrane grinned. "Good riddance!" He said coldly. Then he turned around, his hand moving down to his revolver as he heard the sound of a horse galloping and a man screaming, "Noooooooooo!"

Blackjack the black stallion halted in a cloud of dust a few seconds later and Jim, his face drained of any color pulled out his Colt from his holster.

BANG! BANG! Two gunshots resounded – and two well-aimed bullets cut the rope a few inches above Artemus Gordon's head and the unconscious man dropped to the ground in a heap.

Coltrane groaned and glared at the man dressed in a blue suit who was sprinting toward him, holding a gun. He pointed his Colt at him but he wasn't rapid enough. Two other gunshots resounded. A bullet pierced his shoulder and another one his leg and he collapsed to the ground like a sack of potatoes as troopers swarmed the camp and dozens of them entered the caves.

He let out a howl of rage and helplessness. It was over. He and his men would end up behind bars then with a noose around their necks. Then… death.

His face like stone, adrenaline coursing through his veins, Jim West kicked the blond hulky man's gun sending it away into the nearby bushes and then dropped to his knees beside an immobile Artie, his heart racing as he thought of the worst.

He quickly loosened the rope and pulled it over his partner's head, grimacing as he saw Artie's slack, blue face bloodied from a gash to his left eyebrow and the deep angry red marks around his neck. "Oh God, Artie!" he let out, his chest feeling heavy with deep worry. "No, no, no…"

In a half-relief, he noticed that, fortunately Artie's neck wasn't broken. Lynching someone like that didn't include a fall that broke the neck, he thought. But unfortunately his best friend had suffocated due to the strangulation and paled in alarm.

He hoped that it wasn't too late to save him.

With a grim face, he checked for a pulse with trembling fingers and found none. He leaned in close, his ear directly in front of the other agent's nose and mouth, and listened closely. Nothing. He placed his ear against his now immobile chest and couldn't hear anything.

Artie wasn't breathing.

Jim's own heart skipped a beat in panic. He grabbed Artie's shoulder and shook the lifeless man. "Artie! Wake up! No! You can't be dead!" he said feeling fear gripping his heart. "What can I do? What can I do?" he asked himself, as he sat back on his heels, overwhelmed with panic. Holding Artie's limp hand and pressing it in his, he closed his eyes. "God, Please, no, no, let him live please," he begged, his throat closing up with raw emotion.

Coltrane still conscious sniggered. "He's dead! I killed your friend, your partner I guess, right? And I enjoyed every second of it!"

Immediately Jim cast a murderous glance over his shoulder at the bandit crumpled on the ground with muscles in his strong jaw locked tightly in rage. The thought of killing the blond giant briefly flickered through his mind but he dismissed it. He respected the law. Coltrane would be arrested, put in jail, trialed, convicted and hanged – like all his accomplices.

He would never take justice into his own hands, even if he was tempted to, like now, he thought and worked at calming his breathing.

He looked down at his best friend's bloody cyanosed face, expecting a response from Artie who knew everything, always knew what to do. But Artie was dead, he finally realized and he couldn't say anything, wouldn't say anything anymore.

He closed his eyes again, tears rolling down his cheeks.

He placed a trembling hand on his best friend's brow. "Artie, don't leave me alone…" then he rested his face on top of the other man's still chest and sobbed, gripping the fabric of his stained and stinky shirt. He lifted his head, feeling something underneath his fingers. He pulled out a small buffalo and a small beaver carved in wood from his breast pocket. He blinked to clear his vision and let out a weak smile: Artie's tiny sculptures he gave to children he met in the streets…

He suddenly remembered Artemus doing Cardiopulmonary resuscitation, a technique which he had invented and he simply called CPR, combined with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to a drowned young boy a few years ago and bringing back to life.

He abruptly calmed down and whispered, "Calm down, you have to save Artie! Nothing is lost! You can revive Artie with the CPR technique, he had taught you."

Placing himself at Artemus' side, he moved his unresponsive partner's right arm to be closer to Artie and taking the other man's head in his hands, he pulled it back gently, his chin upward. He opened Artemus's mouth pinched his nose shut and drew a deep breath before bowing his head, covering Artie's bluish-tinged lips with his own. He started breathing for him, blowing air into him. Then he placed one hand over the other above his best friend's sternum, interlocking his fingers, before beginning regular, hard, quick, chest compressions, letting the ribcage recover its shape between two of them, anxiously watching for the rise of Artie's chest as his lungs expanded. But there was no movement.

Keeping his anxiety at bay Jim repeated the maneuver a few times, drawing as much air into his own lungs as he could between regular chest compressions – but Artie still wasn't breathing on his own. He remained motionless, his face slack and livid and his lips blue. "No, no, no!" he said, panic coming back. "Don't do this to me! Don't die on me buddy! I can't do this alone, I need you."

He breathed into Artie's mouth, again and again, re-starting the chest compressions, increasing the pressure each time before stopping when he heard two distinct thuds.

He cringed. "I broke two ribs. I'm sorry Artie," he said. He leaned back down, squashing Artie's nose shut before giving him another breath of air.

He lost track of how many times he pumped his hands against Artie' ribcage and the number of breaths he gave him, but didn't stop.

He couldn't stop. He couldn't lose the man he loved like he was his own brother.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity Artemus let out a whimper, meaning he was alive – again - and he slowly stirred. Then he jerked, shuddered, convulsed and coughed his way to life, thrashing, his chest rising and falling with each painful, ragged breath. Then, shivering, his features contorted in a grimace as he started gasping, his breathing labored.

Coltrane gasped as he couldn't believe his own eyes. "He was dead!" He said, stunned, as he watched Artemus heaving and wheezing.

In a flash Jim reached out and rolled Artie onto his side and suddenly the older man began to cough violently again, his throat hoarse and burning.

Looking down at Artie, utterly exhausted, struggling to breathe by himself, Jim sat on the ground heavily and nodded, proud of himself. "But I brought him back."

Several seconds passed by and Artemus opened his eyes wide, feeling the constricting pressure gone and his chest on fire with each breath he was taking. He slowly moved onto his back and felt a strong hand wrap around him.

He let out an inarticulate and raw sound instead of 'Jim?'

Jim grinned immensely relieved. "Yes it's me. You're back! I did it! I did it!" He put his hand on his partner's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "It's alright Artie, I'm here. Take it easy. Yes, that's it buddy! Breathe, breathe, you're safe now." He pulled out his kerchief from the inner pocket of his vest and gently mopped the blood seeping now from the gash Artie had to his left eyebrow. "You're a mess buddy."

Blinking hard as his surroundings blurred in and out of focus, trembling from the ordeal of being hanged Artemus tried for a word of thanking, but no sound came out, only a pained croak. It hurt even to swallow.

Jim placed his hand on Artie's chest. "It's alright. You'll be okay. Close your eyes Artie," he said as he saw the other man's eyes roll a little in their sockets as he fought to stay conscious, breaths coming in gasps. Then his eyes fluttered close as he blacked out.

Tears of profound joy running down his own face Jim touched Artemus's rope-burnt throat with trembling fingers, finding a pulse there.

He was never happier. Then, grinning, he collapsed in relief, out of breath himself. He reached out, dragging Artie into his arms. "It's over, you're safe."

WWW

 _Later in Fort Bradley's infirmary_

Major McGarrett, the Chief Medical Officer of fort Bradley put his stethoscope back in the pocket of the long white jacket he was wearing on top of his uniform and turned toward James West, standing restlessly beside the door of the small infirmary.

He smiled reassuringly and said, "Mr. Gordon's breathing is still erratic, but his pulse is back to normal. He's going to be alright. But…" And saw Jim flinch in deep worry at that 'but'. He added, "But he suffered a violent strangulation and his upper airway is badly bruised and is swollen too. He won't be able to talk for a few days as the larynx which houses the vocal cords suffered very strong pressure. But I think the vocal cords are not impaired, he should be able to talk within a few days, then everything will go back to normal. It's going to be painful to breathe and swallow and as for eating, he'll be restricted to liquids, like broth or soup." He paused, looking at his patient laid on a bed, sleeping, heavily sedated, and continued, "I put a thick layer of ointment on his neck – it's an old Navajo recipe, it smells bad but it's very efficient in reducing the swelling and healing the rope burns and the bruises and stopping the irritation. I'm going to give you a terracotta pot filled with it and you should apply it to his neck twice a day. They should vanish in a few days. I stitched his opened eyebrow and he'll probably have a hell of a headache for a few days, but the good news is that he's not concussed like I feared he would be. His head is as solid as a rock. I gave him a few drops of laudanum. He should sleep till tomorrow morning." He smiled. "You can sit by his side."

Smiling, Jim said, "Thank you Doctor," then he padded toward the bed on which his best friend cleaned up and without his disguise was lying. He was dressed in blue striped pajamas and had a white bandage wrapped around his head, neck and chest.

He looked terrible, he noticed, his face was pale and shiny with sweat and his eyes had dark shadows beneath them.

He covered Artemus's hand with one of his own, and squeezed gently. "Oh, Artie…"

Seeing that McGarrett asked, "You're very close, are you related? Are you brothers?"

Jim smiled. "We're not related but Artemus is the big brother I never had, he's family." He took his place on a chair beside the bed and took Artemus's limp hand in his, interlacing their fingers. "Hi buddy," he whispered as not to wake him, even though he knew that a huge thunderstorm plus a cannonade wouldn't have woken him up. "You're safe now. Everything is going to be alright."

McGarrett added, "You saved his life doing the Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation you described in detail to me, Mr. West. I didn't know that technique to bring back people from respiratory arrest. It's fantastic. I'm going to teach it to the people at the fort now. It saves lives."

Still looking at his best friend's slack face, Jim replied, "It's a technique Artemus invented. He's a genius you know, always busy in his lab inventing a lot of things, and not only gadgets and bombs…He taught CPR to me, but while doing it I broke two of Artie's ribs…" then he cringed.

McGarrett nodded. "Don't feel guilty about that, because iI was inevitable, Mr. West, but don't worry most broken ribs heal by themselves within six weeks. I wrapped his ribs in a special elastic bandage for compression I have developed. It will help the ribs to set, but won't prevent him taking deep breaths, which could decrease the risk of pneumonia. I will give you painkillers and sedatives I made myself with instructions for you to follow." He patted the younger man's shoulder reassuringly. "He's out of danger now."

Feeling much better, Jim smiled. "Thank you again Doctor."

The Major nodded. "I'm going to have him carried to you train as soon as possible. I have received orders from Colonel Henderson CMO of the U.S. Military Hospital in Washington to transfer him there."

Jim nodded. This time President Grant would keep Artie in Washington for more than three weeks, like he did the first time. Maybe a month or two, until Artemus was completely recovered. 'I bet I'm going to work with Jeremy Pike again', he thought.

WWW

 _The next morning in the Wanderer_

Hearing a moan Jim sitting on the edge of the bed, slid his fingers down to Artie's jaw and gently turned his head to the side. "Artie, wake up."

Artemus made a disgruntled noise of complaint and cracked open his eyes and saw that the early morning sunlight was shining around the edges of the curtains.

His face immediately twisted in agony. He threw his head backward, shut his eyes tight, gripped the blanket and let out a raspy cry.

Paling in concern, Jim placed a soothing hand on his partner's brow. "Take it easy Artie. You're safe, you're home, you're in your bed – and I'm here." Then, he pushed the pillow behind his best friend's head to prop him up. He placed a mug to the other man lips and said, "Just take a sip, slowly. It's tea and honey." His voice was low and soothing.

Artemus complied, winced then relaxed a bit, still in great pain – his head hurt, his neck hurt and his chest hurt. Breathing hurt too, it was like inhaling fire and swallowing hurt also. It was like swallowing shards of glass, he thought.

He looked up at Jim, into his eyes and asked: "What happened?" But only a strangled croak left his mouth and he frowned, puzzled. He cleared his throat coughing up slightly and wanted to try again, but Jim gently put a finger on his lips and shook his head.

Fortunately Jim could read lips. "No, don't talk, you're going to make it worse for yourself. You don't remember?"

Shaking his head, slowly, Artie mouthed, "No."

Jim nodded. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Closing his eyes in order to focus his concentration, Artemus saw a series of images scroll through his memory: him hiding a time bomb, Coltrane holding a revolver, the other man hitting him… He reopened his eyes and without any sound, he replied, "Coltrane hit me with his gun."

Jim took Artie's hand in his, pressing it in a comforting gesture and said, "Okay, the blow to your head has caused a memory loss, it happens, and it is usually temporary and it's nothing serious…" He paused seeing his best friend frown in worry.

Deepening his frown as he was getting anxious, Artie repeated, "What happened?" and this time a few garbled sounds left his mouth.

Ill at ease, Jim said, "Later when you feel better…" He was ready to stand when Artie grabbed his arm in an iron grip. "I assume it's something horrible because you wouldn't act like you do if it was not, dreading my reaction… " And he had confirmation of that assumption when he saw Jim flinch and pale. He insisted, "Tell me. I can handle anything."

Reluctantly, Jim said, "Okay, brace yourself Artie… I've got a lot to tell you, buddy, and it won't be easy to hear. That man, Coltrane… He…" He bit his lower lip nervously anticipating his partner's reactions: shock, dismay, distress. 'Poor Artie, it's going to be a huge shock' he thought. He took a deep breath to give himself courage and he added, "Coltrane he… he hanged you." He paused watching Artie's face suddenly draining of color, his mouth opening while he was staring at him horrified. "I'm sorry for telling you that."

In a flash everything came back to Artie's mind and he paled as his whole body trembled with retroactive fright and horror. "Oh dear God," he mouthed without any voice, "I remember now… he hit me with his gun. I lost consciousness and I woke up shocking, hanging from the end of a rope …" Then he started taking deep, heaving breaths and he swallowed around the bile rising in his throat.

His face twisting in concern, Jim slipped a hand into one of Artie's, fingers intertwining and asked, "I'm so sorry… Do you want me to continue?"

Pale as a ghost, Artie nodded and let out a strangled sound.

Then Jim continued, "Your upper airway is badly bruised and swollen. Fortunately your vocal cords are not impaired, are still intact, but unfortunately you won't be able to talk for a few days. It's going to be painful to swallow and as for eating, think liquid food." Grimacing he added, "You died Artie," and he sighed, his eyes haunted, remembering Artie swinging in the air, dead. "I thought I had lost you, definitively, but I used the CPR technique to bring you back. Dr. McGarrett the CMO of Fort Bradley stitched your left eyebrow, he put a Navajo ointment on your neck and wrapped an elastic compression bandage around your chest. It's an invention of his. I broke two of your ribs while doing the chest compressions, I'm sorry, buddy."

Giving Jim an unconvincing, reassuring smile, Artemus patted Jim's hand and mouthed silently, "I am good," then he took a series of deep breaths as he pulled himself together.

Pause.

Knowing that Artie needed time to regroup he stayed immobile and mute. Then after a brief moment, he saw the other man's tense features relax a bit. "You sure?"

Nodding, Artie replied, "I'm sure yes, I'm not okay yet, but I will be.". He could feel his heart thundering in his chest with huge relief – he was alive! – and immense gratefulness. "Thank you very much Jim, you saved my life, again."

Beaming, Jim pressed Artie's shoulder in a warm gesture. "You're welcome," he said.

Regaining some colors, Artemus silently asked, "Do you remember what happened to me after I had that heart attack at my parent's home and died – until Dr. Henderson brought me back with a special serum of his called epinephrine?"

Frowning, Jim nodded. "Yes, I do. Did you have an out-of-body experience again?"

Rubbing his aching forehead, Artie said, "Yes I did. I was floating, Jim, levitating out of my body and above my body… I could see you doing CPR to me… Then you managed to bring me back, and I was alive again… " He grinned. "And I'm very, very happy to be alive." He touched his bandaged aching throat and wrinkled his nose. "It smells bad."

Still reading Artie's words on his lips Jim nodded and said, "Yes, but it's a very efficient ointment. It will reduce the swelling and heal the rope burns and the bruises in a few days and stop the irritation. McGarrett gave me a full terracotta pot of it and I will apply it on your neck twice a day." He smiled. "And you're welcome, Artie. It was my turn to save you. You saved my life two weeks ago in Virginia City."

Smiling too, Artie pressed Jim's shoulder with affection. "I'd be long dead without you Jim, I mean definitively dead, thank you very much again." Then he moved into a sitting position, wincing and grunting in pain, before slowly moving his legs over the side of the bed.

Patting Artie's knee, Jim added, "We're en-route to Washington. Dr. Henderson is waiting for you. You're going to stay at the Military Hospital for a few days."

Nodding Artie said, "Oh great!" He released a long disheartened sigh. "And then the President will keep me at his side again and longer than the last time," he said mutely. He pressed his fingers around his painful neck again and grimaced. "He's more and more reluctant to let me go back with you on field missions after I was seriously injured..."

Standing, Jim replied, "Of course he is. He loves you like you were his own son Artie and he wants to protect you. It's a normal reaction."

His throat dry like the Sonoran desert, Artie took a new sip of honeyed-tea and mouthed, "I hate being stuck at a desk. My place is here, at your side, I'm your partner."

Eyes twinkling, Jim chuckled. "I agree. We're a pair. But being the President's personal secretary has it rewards… Washington is full of young, beautiful women and there are all kind of places to bring them, cafés, restaurants, theaters…"

Shaking his head, Artie said mutely, "When? Grant works all the time, even at night, like he's still commanding his troops on the front, and as his personal secretary, I have to follow his rhythm and it's exhausting."

Narrowing his eyes, Jim didn't buy it at all. He crossed his arms over his chest as he raised an eyebrow at his partner questioningly. "Really?"

His face neutral Artie replied in silence, "Really, yes."

Recognizing Artie's poker face, Jim said, "That's not true. The last time I met the President, during that Occularis's affair, when you were still at the White House, I asked him how you were bearing up under your new assignment in Washington, and he replied, I quote, "The question is, how is Washington bearing up? I hear there's been a steady influx of lovely young ladies since Artemus has been assigned to us there…' See. You found some time for the ladies…"

Taking the steaming mug from Jim's hand, Artemus swallowed a little of the sweetened liquid and said, "I'm a magnet to women, I can't help it. they're all attracted by good looks and charm." He smiled. "Okay, I admit it. I had some free time for myself… but I'm not exaggerating too much. I had one matinée or one afternoon per week free because Grant needs to have some free time for himself – and for Julia. And I spent that time with a lot of women…"

Smiling, Jim said, "I hope you have their names and addresses listed somewhere Artemus…" and he smiled as Artie touched his right temple with his fingertips. He added, "Stay here, I'm going to prepare a soup for you. It's going to be liquid food for you from now on…"

Shaking his head, Artie mouthed, "I'm going to prepare my soup. I don't want to eat something resembling to concrete."

WWW

 _Much later, after dinner_

Feeling a little sleepy because of the powerful painkiller running through his bloodstream Artemus was half-lying, half-sitting on the plush gold velvet couch, propped up on cushions. Marmalade and Aztec were rolled into a purring ball on their owner's ankles and feet, eyes closed, napping.

Using a sharp knife Artie had just finished carving a whole family of bears – the mother and her two cubs – from a piece of soft wood, when the telegraph rattled. The cats' whiskers and tails twitched in annoyance, but they kept their eyes closed.

He translated the Morse code in his head in time with the short and long pulses and when the machine finally stopped he looked at Jim, sitting at the work table who had just written down the message on a piece of paper, looking as stunned as him. "What?" He mouthed.

Frowning, not happy to have a new assignment, Jim acknowledged the reception of the message then closed the telegraph box, a bit hard. "Well Artie, we have a new assignment, from President Grant himself," He said. "I understand why he chose us for this mission, but he knows about your state…"

Setting his knife and small sculpture down on the coffee table, Artie moved into a sitting position on the couch, wincing as his ribs hurt.

He scooped the cats up before resettling them on his lap which they immediately took possession of, sprawling there, making sleepy purring noises.

He said mutely, slowly so that Jim could read on lips, "Yes, he knows that, and he's probably not very happy to about sending me on this mission, but you and I are the only 'specialists' in Miguelito Loveless in the Secret Service, and he didn't have any other choice but to put us on this mission."

Crossing his arms on his chest, still upset, Jim said, "I know. But I don't like it."

Artie nodded. Then he continued using sign language in order to facilitate dialogue with Jim. "I can't believe it. Loveless wants to give all his fantastic machines to the US Government and explain how they work to our scientists, in exchange for total immunity for what he did during these last few years and to and to be able to come back from time to time to this country without being arrested - because he wants to retire to Mexico." He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "I don't believe it for one second. It's one of his setups again. I'd bet my life on it – believe me." He sighed, upset too. "And we're going to have to bring him to the Capital, on board our train and treat him like a guest… not me! I can't believe it! Loveless here!"

Pouring a new splash of oil on his rag, Jim started to clean his Derringer. "I know, knowing Loveless it sounds highly suspicious, but perhaps Loveless is telling the truth, we don't know for sure. Let's just give him the benefit of the doubt. He's not getting any younger you know and he's probably so rich that he wants to retire to Mexico and enjoy a comfortable life there. It's a nice place… I could buy a ranch there after I retired myself and have horses and a few cattle…"

Smiling, Artie mouthed, "I can't believe you want to become a ranchero. And you'll have a beautiful wife with a strong character and children – one boy, one girl."

Smiling too, Jim nodded. "Is this one of your famous premonitions?" His smile broadened. "I'd like that, I mean I'd like to have a normal, peaceful life and a family. Leave my past behind me."

Petting his cats, Artie said, "As for me, I will go back to the theater to be a thespian again, in a traveling troupe because I like that kind of life, I mean meeting people and playing in front of a different audience each night – and meet lovely women too. I could have my own troupe even and later, when I'm older have my own theater. That would be great!"

Jim nodded. "But in the meantime we have an assignment to fulfill. The President has wanted those formidable machines for years. That's why we have to meet Loveless in four days, at noon, in the cantina of Santa Theresa, near the Mexican border."

Not convinced by Loveless's proposal, Artie gently moved the cats to the end of the couch and stood up. He poured himself a glass of cool water.

He took a sip and winced. "Call me suspicious but I think it's a trap to kill us, that's the phoniest story I've ever heard, Loveless would never do that. Retiring? Giving all his machines to the Government? Bah! That's impossible!" he said without spoken words.

Jim repeated, "Let's just give him the benefit of the doubt." He watched his cat AG leap on his lap and added, "We'll see soon if he's honest or not." He ran his fingers over the black cat's fur and noticed that his companion was now lost in thought. "What are you thinking about?"

Lulled by the loud relaxing purrs of the three cats, Artie started to fight to keep his eyes open. "I am exhausted and I am going to bed early," he mouthed. He yawned and responded, "We shouldn't let Loveless seize the occasion to have the two of us with him at the same time in case it turns out to be a trap to capture us and kill us. We'll be together, but not. If there is a problem, I could help you, he won't suspect an old crippled colonel with a walking stick – actually a rifle made to resemble a walking stick - to be ready to fight and kill…"

Lifting a curious eyebrow, Jim asked, "What do you have in mind, Artie?"

His throat raw, burning him, he switched to sign language again. "You will be accompanied by an officer sent by El Presidente Juan Nepomuceno Méndez in charge of finding out what Loveless's intentions are once he's settled in Mexico. After all Loveless is a dangerous man, a very dangerous man and sought by the American justice system for many felonies, it's normal that he should want to know what Loveless will be doing when he retires, and be worried about what he could do there." He took another sip of water and added, "It would be silly for the two of us to put our necks in Loveless's noose…"

Immediately Jim cringed while hearing those last words. Artie blanched and paused suddenly realizing what he had just said.

Noticing that Jim was ill at ease too the older man said, "I just wanted to say, that we should work together, but separately, like we always do." He rubbed his chin pensively for a few seconds and added, "I'm thinking about bringing back Colonel Hernandez Del Valle Santiago y Sandoval, but older and limping and with a cane… hiding a gun. I just need to build one. It shouldn't take long."

.

Tbc.


	3. Act Two

**By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT TWO**

 _Four days later,_

 _Cantina, Santa Theresa, at noon_

It was noon when James West and Colonel Hernandez Del Valle Santiago y Sandoval (Artemus Gordon) dressed in his impeccable uniform, monocle in his right eye and leaning on a cane, entered the cantina finding it unusually empty, except for a burly moustachioed Mexican standing behind the counter and a bulky peón sitting in a corner, nursing a glass of foamy beer.

The only sound one could hear was the big black flies flying around the room.

The man with the dusty sombrero charro stared at the two agents, finding it more interesting than counting the cockroaches running about the dirty floor under the nearby tables. On their guard, both Jim and Artie took their places at a table not far from the swinging door – to see people come in and to be able to leave easily and fast if needed.

Then Jim raised his hand and waved it. "Dos cervezas por favor," he said. Placing his hand on Jim's arm, Artie mouthed, "And tacos! I'm hungry."

Shaking his head the man behind the bar – and the flies – said, "No tacos, but chili."

Nodding Artie said a soundless, "Perfect!"

Nodding too Jim added, "Okay, one plate of chili, por favor señor." And the barman left the room a couple of seconds later.

Looking at Artie, amused, Jim said, "I suppose you don't want to eat soup or purée anymore, but something more solid like tacos and chili."

Smiling, the fake Colonel said mutely, "My throat is better, I can now eat solid things and I can't resist Mexican food. But I still can't talk."

Glancing at the Mexican still staring at them, he whispered, "Are peónes usually that bulky? He's one of Loveless's men do you think?"

Looking at the other man slowly drinking his beer – and staring at Jim and him, Artie replied, "It's possible." And his stomach growled.

The barman came back into the room, holding a bowl of steaming chili with a spoon immersed in it and placed it in front of Artie. "Buen provecho, Colonel," he said, before going back behind his counter.

He brought the two agents their beers then went back to his place again where he began cleaning glasses with a dirty rag.

His faux thick eyebrows meeting Artemus took his beer and looked at the foamy, amber liquid suspiciously. He glanced at Jim and mouthed, "Drugged do you think?"

Jim shook his head. "Why would Loveless drug us? He needs us to go to Washington. No, I don't think so, unless, of course, it's a trap to capture us in order to kill us later." He watched Artie settle his glass on the table again - intact.

Looking at his bowl of chili, Artie licked his lips hungrily. "It smells delicious," he mouthed before swallowing a spoonful of beans.

Smiling Jim said, "You know, Loveless could have drugged your chili, Artie." But Artemus ignored his remark, listening to his stomach and not his brain. Looking around him again, Jim asked aloud, "I wonder where Loveless is?"

Suddenly an all-too familiar voice came from behind the bar and Miguelito Loveless emerged from behind it, smiling. "I'm here Mr. West," he said, heading toward the two agents.

The burly Mexican peón stood up, pulling out a shotgun from under the table and he followed the little man as if he was his shadow.

Loveless frowned upset and asked, "Where is Mr. Gordon, Mr. West? I wanted him to be here with you. I specified that to Colonel Richmond."

Nodding, Jim said, "I know." Then he added, "Mr. Gordon couldn't attend this meeting. He asked me to tell you he's sorry and that you can sue him if you want, he doesn't care. He's still in Washington working with the President. He'll see you there."

Hearing that, amused, Artemus hid a smile and suppressed a chuckle too. That's exactly what he would have said to Loveless.

Loveless nodded. "I heard he served as Grant's personal secretary twice already and that the President is raving about him. According to my contacts in Washington, he spends his free time courting the most beautiful women of the capital, going from reception to reception, from ball to ball, from party to party with them and meet there with members of the Senate and Congress, with officers, ambassadors, etc. He's taken like a duck to water among those people. You are going to lose him." He paused waiting to see if James West was upset, hoping for it, but the agent remained inscrutable. He added, "Because he will soon prefer this life in Washington to that of a secret agent, much less interesting and much more dangerous."

Shaking his head, Jim said, "Impossible." Then he took a sip of beer. "Artemus and I we are partners for life. He'll come back to me."

Loveless chuckled mockingly, "I didn't know the two of you were married…" He took his place on a chair in front of the two men and looked at the fake Mexican Colonel who was glaring at him and raising an eyebrow asked him,. "Who are you?"

Looking at a disguised Artie, Jim replied, "Let me introduce you to Colonel Del Valle Santiago y Sandoval of the El Presidente Juan Nepomuceno Méndez's personal guard. El Presidente sent the Colonel here to find out what a man like you, wanted in the US for many felonies, intends to do in Mexico. I'm sorry, but he can't talk, he had a regrettable accident two days ago while on a mission and temporarily lost his voice." On that, Artemus removed the scarf he had tied around his neck, revealing the large the red-blue bruises and reddish abrasions left by the rope around his neck.

Loveless was very surprised. "Someone hung you Colonel?"

Scooping up a new spoonful of chili Artie nodded.

Jim continued, "I can read lips, so I will be the Colonel's voice. The Colonel can't talk but he's ready to listen to you."

Dr. Loveless looked at the faux-Colonel sporting a huge greenish bruise under his right eye and who was eating chili and said, "You will tell your President that I intend to read lots of books and to write my _mémoires_ , to start with. After that I don't know… maybe conquer Mexico. I have a small army of mercenaries ready to attack Sonora…" He gave a short laugh while watching the two men in front of him exchange a worried look. He cackled. "I'm kidding. I don't know, yet. The idea of retiring is pretty new, you know. Let's say that I want to enjoy life… peacefully."

Jim pointed at the armed thug. "Peacefully? Why is he here? He looks ready for a gunfight."

Miguelito Loveless smiled. "Exactly. Pedro is here to protect me. but once I am under your protection on your train, he'll leave. You see Mr. West, my offer to President Grant is not a secret anymore and that's too bad. There are spies everywhere nowadays. Tsk! Tsk! The fact is that other countries are interested by my fabulous machines and they'll do anything to have me and them. I was almost kidnapped by a group of Russian agents a week ago, and by two British agents three days ago… I'm counting on you to protect me while traveling on your famous Wanderer. I have an important rendez-vous with President Grant in Washington and I wouldn't miss that for anything in the world – and Grant too." He glanced at Hernandez Del Valle Santiago y Sandoval and added, "I'm sure we'll see each other one day, Colonel after I move to Mexico City, because I know that I will be closely watched at first, and then when you see that there is no danger, you will let me live in peace."

Artemus grabbed Jim's arm and stood up. Then he pointed at the door, indicating that he wanted to go outside, in the street.

Jim smiled. "Please excuse me but the Colonel wants to discuss with me," he said to Loveless before following the other agent into the street.

Once outside, Artemus frowned with worry and mouthed, "Loveless is up to something Jim. I can feel it deep in my bones."

Rubbing his chin Jim said, "I know, I have that feeling too. But we have a mission, Artie, and we will carry it out, keeping an eye on our special guest, of course. We'll have to be very vigilant to avoid any problems." He placed a soothing hand on his partner's arm and said, "Nothing happened here, he didn't try to kill us, so, if you want to accompany us Artie, Colonel Del Valle Santiago y Sandoval has to disappear. But it won't be a problem for you, right?"

Shaking his head Artie mouthed a "no", then he glanced at his horse. Lockpick was stomping his right hoof on the dusty ground, huffing in discomfort. He added, "But first I need to go to the blacksmith. Lockpick needs a new horseshoe. I'll join you later."

Smirking playfully, Jim nodded. "You don't want to finish your chili?"

Shaking his head, Artemus replied silently, "Too spicy. My throat is like it's on fire. Eating that was a very bad idea and mine's better. Besides seeing Loveless ruined my appetite. I'm not hungry anymore."

Jim nodded. He knew that Artemus couldn't stand Loveless who had tried – unsuccessfully – to kill him multiple times.

He had tortured him too.

No, Artemus hated Loveless pure and simple.

WWW

 _Much later on the Wanderer_

Miguelito Loveless entered the parlor car holding a heavy travel bag and looked around him, admiring the luxurious interior. "This is lovely, just what I love. President Grant is very generous with his two best special agents," he said. "I heard that his own train is the 'sister train' of this one and he's right now heading toward Chicago on board…" Then he flinched, regretting having said that knowing Jim West's very suspicious mind.

Closing the door behind the little man Jim said, "You heard? I bet you know everything about the President's train and his trip to Chicago was secret." He sent a glacial glare to his Nemesis. "I hope you don't plan to kill the President while he's traveling on board his train while we're busy here with you, because if that happens… I'll know it." He opened the door. "And there will be no deal anymore. And I will be more than happy to throw you out at full speed."

Not impressed Dr. Loveless chuckled. "Oh no, you wouldn't do that, first because you received orders to bring me to Washington intact, and secondly because now that you know that foreign countries want me and my machines, you wouldn't let them have them in their hands as they could use them to attack the US and win all the conflicts against our troops and conquer our country in a matter of weeks."

He smiled, watching the agent close the door again, his face impenetrable, but he knew – and enjoyed – the agent's helplessness. "Good! I don't want to kill the President, believe me. He's the only one who can 'grant' me what I want." He put his travel bag on the couch and sat next to it. "I'm very hungry. I hope you are a good cook, Mr. West. Because I'm a gourmet."

Jim grinned mischievously and replied, "I'm sorry, but I'm not a good cook, I can't even boil an egg correctly, but I'm sure you can cook better than I do. It's not a guesthouse here. If you want to eat something, you'll have to cook your meals yourself and make your bed and do the laundry." He enjoyed the little man's upset huff, and pointing at Loveless's big, black bag, he ordered, "Open that! Let's see what's inside your bag."

Loveless opened his travel bag. "Be my guest, Mr. West, it holds just what I need to reach Washington. There's no bomb inside, no poison, no lethal gas and no weapons of any kind, trust me."

Ignoring that last remark, Jim replied, "I don't trust you, never had, never will – ever!" And the secret agent searched the bag thoroughly – not finding anything unusual inside. "I'm going to search you, now," he said." And he did despite Loveless's protests and didn't find anything dangerous. "Alright, I didn't find anything. now I could lock you in the cell to be sure you're not a threat – but the President wants you to be treated like a guest, so you'll sleep in the state room, the compartment reserved for the President when he sometimes travels on board with us."

Loveless smiled broadly "I'm honored."

His face like stone Jim said, "Don't be. It's only because it's the only vacant compartment. But don't try anything tricky, I usually sleep with my gun under my pillow and I am a very light sleeper, plus I'm notoriously trigger-happy. Accidents can so easily happen…"

Suddenly the door of the parlor car opened and Artemus Gordon still disguised as Colonel Hernandez Del Valle Santiago y Sandoval entered the room brushing dust off his uniform.

Loveless furrowed his brow, visibly upset. "What are you doing here Colonel? I thought you were not coming with us to Washington?"

The fake Hernandez Del Valle Santiago y Sandoval removed his faux moustache, beard, and hat and then tousled his black wavy hair. "I am," he mouthed, narrowing his eyes vindictively. "And I will keep an eye on you, Loveless. I don't trust you."

Loveless was very surprised. "Mr. Gordon? Is that you?" Then he grinned in sincere admiration. "Once again you fooled me. You did a great job of make up on your neck too and you can now stop pretending that you can't talk, it was well played."

Jim sighed. "It's not make up, Loveless. Artie was hung at the beginning of the week. He was dead when I found him – fortunately I managed to bring him back to life, but he's not going to be able to talk for days because of that."

Stunned Loveless blinked twice. "You died?" he asked.

Glaring at his old adversary Artemus mouthed, "Try anything tricky and I'll throw you off the train, preferably into a deep ravine. I'll be in my lab." Then he left.

The diminutive man looked at Jim, falsely hurt. "I don't know what he said, but your partner doesn't seem to appreciate me, Mr. West. But he's always so emotional!"

Jim nodded. "Well, you tortured him and tried to kill him many times. I think he has the right to be emotional and hate you in that case." He paused and added, "And being emotional is not a flaw as you think but an indispensable quality to be a good actor – and Artie is the best. Besides, it's part of who he is. And I appreciate that."

Loveless stomach growled. "I'm still hungry." Seeing Jim cross his arms on his chest, he asked, "Do you have a galley here?"

Smirking Jim pointed at the door leading to Artie's den.

Miguelito Loveless headed there but came back into the parlor a few seconds later, his blue eyes opened in panic.

He was surrounded by Marmalade, Aztec and AG.

The three cats poised in predator mode were hissing and spitting at him, tails flailing with hate, swiping at him, baring pointy teeth and sharp claws.

Loveless let out a pitiful, "Help!"

WWW

 _Later, at night_

Lying on his bed, propped up against a pillow Artemus was combing his fingers through Marmalade's thick fur as the cat was lounging on his lap, licking its front paws clean, purring contentedly. Aztec, as for him was perched on his dresser beside the lamp, grooming his short gray hairs.

Dressed in his navy striped pajamas with his neck wrapped in a white bandage covering a thick layer of Indian's ointment Artie was reading a receipt for seafood pasta in a book on Italian cuisine to keep him awake when he heard a knock at his door. "Come in!" he mouthed.

But of course Jim didn't hear him.

The door opened and Jim entered the small room, frowning in concern. "You should be sleeping like a rock Artie, not reading a book," he admonished pulling a chair beside the bed, waving his finger to accompany his stern tone.

Looking up at his partner Artie replied, mouthing his words, "You sound like my mother…"

Jim sat on the chair and added, "Good! because she asked me to watch over you, that's what I do. You can't stay awake all night long. You're worn out, Artie. Get some sleep. Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on our guest." He placed a hand on the other man's shoulder. "You need rest, you look like hell." Then he reached out and took the bottle of Artie's homemade sedative which was sitting on the end table beside the bed along with a spoon and filled it. Then he brought it to the older man's lips, smiled and commanded, "Open!"

Artie chuckled. "Yes mum," he said. He swallowed the bitter liquid and let out a loud "Gaah!" before grimacing in disgust. "Yuck!"

Jim smiled. "In your bed now, Artemus." And he took Marmie in his arms who instantly nestled there, purring loudly.

Smiling too Artie complied and rested his head on his pillow with a long sigh of pleasure. He was worn out indeed. Switching to sign language he said, "Keep an eye on Loveless Jim, okay? He didn't kill us at the cantina, but he still can do it here, somehow. He's a very intelligent and resourceful man, and he hates us. Ever heard of the Trojan Horse? The Trojans were all killed by the Greeks."

Jim raised his hand and said, "I promise. Now be a good boy and sleep."

Artie didn't have to wait long before feeling the first effects: the drug was so concentrated that less than one minute later, his head began to spin rather violently and his vision became blurry.

He felt sleepy, languid, and his whole body heavy, lethargic.

Rapidly all his senses were dulled and his thoughts fuzzy in his opium-hazed brain. His vision started to swim, his eyelids felt like lead weights.

He was very tired and his limbs seemed to weigh a ton. His vision began to tunnel. He found himself drifting into a comfortable doze.

Jim lowered the cat onto his best friend's lap and watched the older man sleep for a few seconds then dimmed the light. "Good night Artie.".

He left the room – letting AG enter and head toward his basket - and padded toward the parlor car to send a message to Colonel Richmond.

WWW

 _Later, in the middle of the night_

It was very late, Jim was in the galley making a pot of coffee to stay awake when he heard loud moans and even strangled sobs resound in the almost silence, disturbed only by the familiar sounds of the train.

He was out of the galley within seconds.

He sprinted to Artie's sleeping compartment and found the other man trashing about on his bed, gasping for breath, letting out croaks and groans.

His eyes were tight shut, his tear-soaked face twisted in agony and his hands were clutching frantically the bandage wrapped around his neck, pulling on it, trying to tear it off.

Marmie and AG both worried were sitting in their basket, watching the scene in front of them with big slit eyes, mewling in distress.

His first thought was that Artie was reliving his hanging in his sleep. 'I'm surprised it didn't happen before,' he thought.

He rapidly stroked the cats on their heads in order to reassure them, saying "He's going to be okay" then he reached out and grabbed his partner's shoulders in a firm grip. "Artie! Wake up! You're having a nightmare," he said and shook him gently.

His best friend looked terrible, he noticed, his face was red from his efforts as he struggled to suck in a breath and his brow was crinkled in pain. Tears streamed down both sides of his face. "Artie, wake up! It's a nightmare, you're not choking! Please, wake up! It's not real!" He tightened his grip but Artie arms were flailing enough that he stumbled backward and was knocked off the bed. "Damn!" he let out as he sat on the floor a second before lunging up onto the bed.

He straddled his best's friends legs, pressed on his arms and pinned him on the mattress. "Wake up Artie! Wake up, please, buddy."

Shortly after Artie's terror-filled eyes flew open wide and he jolted awake with a gasp, his sheets soaked with cold sweat were entangled around him, his head pounding. His heart was beating as though running a race and he was trembling as the final vestiges of his dream lingered in his mind.

He was momentarily disoriented until he realized that Jim was pinning him on the mattress, his best friend's looking down at him, a look of deep concern on his face and he began to take in the reality of his surroundings. He had been dreaming.

He suddenly burped and tasted bile rising up in his throat as images, smells and sounds were still clear and vivid in his mind.

Knowing what was going to happen next, Jim jumped out of bed and grabbed the first receptacle within easy reach, Aztec's basket, on the dresser, placing it under Artie's chin.

Once it was over, Artemus coughed into his sleeve and curled in on himself. Jim put the basket away and sat crisscross on Artie's bed. The vomit-covered cushion will end up in the stove, he thought.

Drying the tears with his bedspread, Artie breathed deeply, trying to calm down from the all too real bad dream he had. "I relived my hanging…" he said, pale as a ghost, using his own voice which was croaky and unsteady before letting out a chain of painful coughs - trying to expel the images out of his mind. He lifted his eyebrows as he was surprised to hear his not-quite-yet own voice. He had almost forgotten how it sounded, accustomed to silently mouthing words. He rasped, "What?"

Hearing that Jim smiled happily. "You can talk Artie! That's great buddy!"

He cleared his throat and took another deep breath, feeling immensely relieved. "But I haven't completely found my voice, Jim," he said, as his voice cracked over his words. "I sound awful. My throat is still extremely sore and aching a lot," he rasped. He saw Jim nod and move to the side of the bed, his brow furrowed in concern. "I'm alright, Jim. I've had a lot worse nightmares, and after a while those vivid images and sensations will end up somewhere in a distant recess of the memory, they won't disappear I know that, like all the horrible things that have happened to me which are still here ... " And he tapped his temple with a fingertip. "And horrible things that happened to me largely because of our undesirable guest." He sat up in his bed and put a trembling hand to his head and pushed back the sweat-dampened hair plastered to his skull. His limbs relaxed and his heartbeat began to slow. He scrubbed his hands over his tired face "What an awful, bone-chilling bad dream…" he let out, his mind still reeling from the nightmare.

Then he buried his head in his still shaking hands with a sob. Immediately Jim wrapped his arms around his companion, pulling him close.

He started rubbing Artie's back in soothing circles, "It's over, try to forget it. You're safe Artie, go back to sleep," he said in a gentle voice.

Parting from Jim, Artie shook his head knowing that he wouldn't be able to sleep again anytime soon. Nor did he want to, after that nightmare. "No, I think I'm done for the night, Jim," he placed a hand on Jim's shoulder and said, "Thank you. Untangling his limbs from his twisted sheet, he moved on top of the bed and added, "It's not the first time I died Jim and had nightmares after that, and something tells me that I will die temporarily, again, several times, before definitively dying. Don't worry, I'm going to be alright. It's just a matter of time. Remember when I died in the past Colonel Vautrain had sent me into – I had nightmares for a week after that, and they progressively disappeared and I felt good again, time makes thing easier…"

Jim nodded. "Yes I remember and I had nightmares myself days after that pistolero killed you, too. Each night for a week I kept seeing you, dead in my arms, your dead body lying in your coffin, me standing beside your coffin at your funeral..."

Artie nodded. "I wasn't really dead, you know. They killed my doppelganger."

Jim stood and said, "I didn't know that at the time, I thought it was you, Artie. That was the worst day in my life, ever. When I saw you after you killed that head pistolero, Armando Galiano, I was so totally stunned that I thought that you were a ghost."

His chocolate eyes sparkling up at Jim, Artie said, "And I was very upset that my all you had to say was 'thanks Artie'. I had just come back from the grave, risen like Lazarus…"

Jim smiled and asked, "You remember when you thought that I was dead – and that you were prisoner of that woman Dr. Faustina? You were stunned too to see me alive. If my memory is correct, you said to me: "Well you don't look very dead."

Artie chuckled. "And you said; "I'm not even sick." Laughing he took Jim in his arms. He hugged him for a long moment then finally parted from his best friend. "Ah! James my boy! You and I should stop dying during our missions, it becomes seriously tiresome." He heaved a long sigh. "I think I need a cup of coffee… but not the coffee you prepared and that I can smell from here so much it is so strong, and bitter. You should think about adding a little more water when you make coffee, you know?

WWW

The two men entered the galley one minute later. Artemus immediately got rid of Jim's molasses-like-coffee in the sink earning a fake highly affronted look from his partner and rapidly made another pot, both men enjoying the rich aroma of roasted beans.

Marmie, AG and Aztec joined them and the felines mewling for milk, started slaloming between the older man's legs, rubbing against them enticingly, so Artie placed a saucer onto the floor, filled it with milk and the cats grouped to lap it up in concert.

Once that was done, Jim and Artemus entered the parlor car, Artie holding the pot of fresh, steaming coffee and Jim two mugs.

Rubbing one bloodshot and puffy eye, the younger man sat on the couch imitated by his partner and settled the two mugs on the coffee table. He said, "I still have the flag that was on your coffin, you know, I mean on your doppelganger's coffin. By the way he was transferred from the fort cemetery to a civil cemetery after your miraculous 'resurrection'. His name was Edward Henley, one of the pistoleros told me."

Pouring hot coffee into one mug, Artie chuckled then he said, "I was buried once already after you killed me, Jim, do you remember? And you didn't show up to my funeral. Tsk! Tsk! Tsk! It's only when a man is dead that he can see who his true friends are…"

Jim smiled. "Oh, I did, but the burial was over, there was only one old priest left who told me exactly what you just said, it's so strange!"

They both laughed. Then they became serious again.

Jim asked, "What do you think Loveless is cooking up? Because like you, I don't believe him. He has something in mind."

Pouring steaming coffee into the other mug, Artie replied, "I think we're not his target, for once – at least for now – and I'm persuaded that he wants to kill the President, meeting him in his office is ideal too, and I can feel it in my guts."

Frowning suddenly worried, Jim said, "Kill Grant In his office? That's impossible! He has a security detail and we'll be there too when they meet.. No, wait! Nothing is impossible with Dr. Loveless. Besides your instinct is never wrong, Artie."

The older agent smiled and bowed his head. "Thank you." He took a sip of coffee and added, "And I know he won't kill the President, because I know someone who is going to take his place – wearing a bullet proof jacket of course – a man who impersonated him many times when his life was threatened, and doing that, saved his life many times too. A former great thespian with a vast repertoire… and very talented."

Jim took a sip of coffee in his turn. "Yes, I know him too very well." He smiled. "He left the stage to become a great special agent of the US Secret Service."

Smiling too, Artemus continued with a scratchy voice, "But an actor once, an actor forever… " He paused and continued, "But as Loveless could suspect that I am playing Grant's role, he knows that I can impersonate anyone, even women, I've to keep myself mute, pretending that I'm still unable to talk. Oh! And I'll ask Jeremy to wear a mask of my face. Loveless will then be totally convinced I'm not impersonating the President." He took a sip of coffee, swallowed painfully, and then winced. Despite that he drank his whole mug. The hot liquid helped in soothing his sore and irritated throat.

Jim nodded. "Good idea, Artie." He suddenly frowned while thinking about something. "Let's hope Loveless isn't a light sleeper and didn't hear anything, otherwise your plan is already ruined."

Needing to be sure of that, the two men padded down the narrow walkway and stopped in front of the guest compartment.

They could hear Loveless's loud snores through the door.

They smiled.

WWW

 _The next morning_

Loveless was bored staring out of the window watching the telegraph poles passing along the track… and fighting sleepiness as the sound of the Wanderer passage over railway ties and the rumble of the steam engine were lulling him to sleep.

He shook his head and sighed heavily, drumming his fingers on the couch and glanced at Jim. "What do the two of do when traveling in your train? There's nothing to do here, except look outside at the landscape," he said crossing his arms on his chest, huffing in frustrated annoyance. "It's boring."

Sitting at the work table, Jim who was reading ancient mission reports responded, "Well, we write mission reports, we play chess, different cards games, we read books, newspapers, dime novels, I oil the guns and take care of the horses; Artie is inventing new gadgets or playing in his labs with his chemicals, he plays violin and prepares food too. We train a lot too, to be in tip-top shape. We do hand to hand combat, we do fencing, we do boxing, stick fighting, some martial arts, some wrestling too." Then he bent toward his cat curled up in the basket beside him and scratched AG behind the ears, making him purr and the feline rubbed his head against his owner's palm.

Miguelito Loveless left the couch and looked at Artemus. The older agent was lying on the other couch, two pillows tucked beneath his head, his feet resting on the armrest. Marmalade was sitting Sphinx-style across her owner's lap, staring at him. She was in defensive mode, ready to pounce on Loveless, teeth and claws ready if he dared to come close to her owner. Aztec as for him was playing with a small stuffed mouse under the coffee table.

He proposed, "Perhaps I could use your lab, Mr. Gordon. As you know I'm very good at chemistry. I could make smoke bombs for you, I know that you appreciate them very much."

Furrowing his brow Artemus lifted his eyes from the book he was reading and send an icy glare at the diminutive man. "Never! You won't kill us with some lethal gas you prepared using my chemicals. Forget it!" he mouthed in silence before shaking his finger in a 'no way' gesture. Then he returned to his reading.

Marmie narrowed her slit eyes and hissed channeling her owner's mood.

Loveless pursed his lips. "That's not very kind of you." Then he glared at Marmalade who slow-blinked at him, sprawled on her side and licked her paws – ignoring him. He huffed in annoyance and asked, "When will you find your voice?"

Petting AG's black fur softly, Jim responded for his injured partner, "Not before two weeks are up, the doctor said. Let me remind you that he was hanged."

Loveless nodded. "And yet you survived, I'm very impressed. You seem to be truly indestructible, Mr. Gordon, like your partner."

Shooting a black look to Loveless Artemus groaned and said mutely, "You should know, you tried to kill us both many times and you failed each time."

Loveless was searching for a good retort when there was a very brutal blow to the back of the train. Under the force of the impact the three men were thrown to the carpeted floor. Scared, the cats immediately sought refuge under the closest couch.

In a flash Jim stood and hurried to open the door leading to the rear platform – damaged - and he was stunned to discover… another train with its front portion seriously broken heading back toward the Wanderer again, at top speed to spur the train again.

Then he saw a dozen armed men riding horses galloping on each side of the other train, guns in hands, ready to fire at the Wanderer.

He closed the door, headed back inside the train and said, "We are being attacked! Loveless, you stay down, move under the table! Now!" And the little man complied hastily. "Artie take the right side, I'll take the left side." And they hurried to grab their gun belts and Colts.

Bullets suddenly rained inside the parlor car, smashing windows and lamps and making holes in the wooden walls and furniture.

Loveless panicked rolled himself into a shivering ball under the table. Artie moved behind a window and opened fire against the assailants, Jim doing the same on the other side.

The other train hit the Wanderer again, harder than before and Artie, Jim and Loveless found themselves being catapulted to the rear of the parlor car.

More bullets whistled by, but the two agents paid them no mind.

The door suddenly opened and two men rushed inside, guns in hands. Moving onto one knee Jim aimed calmly, pulled the trigger and hit them square in their chests. They collapsed on the floor, both dead.

Three other attackers jumped on what was left of the rear platform and entered the parlor car in their turn and immediately fired at their targets, Jim and Artie, using shotguns.

Tbc.


	4. Act Three

**THE NIGHT OF THE FAKE HAND**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT THREE**

Suddenly three other attackers entered the parlor car, using shotguns and immediately fired at their targets: Jim and Artie.

The two agents of the USSS dove forward to the broken-glass-covered floor in a flash, cutting their hands and knees on the sharp shards and receiving a rain of splinters as the dresser and the door of the galley literally exploded behind them.

They opened fire, killing an assailant each, but had to retreat as the third man fired again and was joined a couple of seconds later by two associates.

Grabbing Loveless by the arm Jim marshaled him to the narrow walkway while Artemus kept the shooters at bay with his gun.

Once in the bathroom he manhandled a terrified Loveless into a large cupboard and then commanded, "You stay here, you don't move, you don't make a sound and that's final!" And then he closed the door, locking it with a key he then pocketed.

He rushed into Artie's lab, opened a box and filled his pocket with knockout gas bombs but found only one respirator in a drawer. He put it on his face and joined his partner.

Once back in the parlor he discovered Artemus, gun-less, kneeling on the floor next to the remnants of the dining table, submerged beneath four men and doing his best to counteract the hard punches that descended on him, as the bandits were pummeling his bloodied face.

Seeing this Jim's jaw tightened in anger and he didn't hesitate one second. He threw two knock-out gas bombs amidst the men and they exploded in a cloud of red smoke.

He watched his best friend and the bandits collapse to the floor, unconscious, then hearing footsteps as other men entered the room, he sent another volley of knockout gas bombs and again the parlor was enveloped in a much larger cloud of red smoke.

More bandits fell down to the floor, passed out.

No one entered the parlor car after that.

Standing on the heavily damaged rear platform of the train, his respirator still on his face, Jim watched the other train backing off and moving away as the bandits were retreating too.

He sighed in relief. The attack was over.

The Wanderer braked several times and started to slow down as the thick cloud of red smoke progressively dissipated in the air.

Jim went back inside and cleared his best friend of the unconscious men piled on top of him. Then he dragged Artie onto the closest couch and did a rapid survey of his partner: Artemus was bleeding from the gash at his left eyebrow again and blood was pouring from his nose – fortunately not broken, and he had new bruises on his face to add to his collection.

He noticed blood on Artie's right arm too soaking the fabric of his white shirt. He ripped the sleeve open, pulled it up and frowned in concern seeing a long sharp piece of glass was embedded in Artemus flesh, just in the middle of his coiled dragon tattooed on his bicep.

He slowly removed it and blood gushed out. Then he tied his handkerchief around the injured muscle, stopping the bleeding.

He spotted a series of bleeding cuts on Artie's hands and knees – then realized he had those two and remembered their dive to the floor covered with pieces of glass. He didn't find any other injury on his companion and, relieved, he looked around him: the parlor car and the rear part were ruined. The train was rolling but it would take days to repair the damages, he mused.

Looking down at the four unconscious assailants his first thought was: 'the cell is going to be too small to hold everyone'.

He frowned in concern and asked, "Where are the cats?" Seeing the tip of a tail coming out from under the couch, he knew. He gently scooped the sleeping felines one by one and settled them on the free couch. "Now, let's take care of Artie."

WWW

 _Much later_

Miguelito Loveless pointed at the men held in the rolling cell, standing behind the bars furious to have been captured and that their mission had failed. "They wanted to kill you to capture me," he said. "I told you Mr. West, other countries are interested in my fabulous machines and they'll do everything to have me and them. Do you know where they are from?"

Loveless was right. Other nations were interested in him and his fantastic machines and they would try to kidnap him and use any means necessary to reach their goal, Jim thought. He sighed as he continued his musing. First the Russian agents, then the British agents… Who were those bandits? Where did they come from? For whom did they work? Who will attack them next? The ride to Washington would take at least 6 days. Anything could happen on the way.

Irritated Loveless clapped his hands twice. "Mr. West! Stop daydreaming and answer me. Do you know where they came from?"

Shaking his head Jim replied, "I don't. They didn't say a word, but one of them had a photograph of you, and there was a short text written on the back – in a language I don't know."

Loveless nodded. "They wanted to kidnap me. Who's next? Spanish agents? French agents?" He suddenly realized that Artemus wasn't there. "Speaking of agents, where's your partner?"

Looking again at the still-sleeping bandits, Jim replied, "He's sending a message to Washington, telling Colonel Richmond what happened" Jim said. "The Wanderer is going to be immobilized in Kansas City's railroad yard for two days for emergency repairs."

Loveless frowned in worry. "But we're going to be sitting ducks there!"

Suddenly the door of the stable car opened and Artie entered the compartment. He glanced at the bodies of the dead bandits lying in a corner between several blocks of ice and then headed toward Jim and Loveless standing beside the 'rolling cell'.

He used sign language to say: "Colonel Richmond told me that we'll have an escort until we reach Washington DC. We're going to be a little cramped with 20 heavily armed troopers on board but I prefer that. They will protect us. Once in Kansas City, Colonel Finley from Fort Brown will be here with a detachment of cavalry to take charge of our guests."

Smiling, Jim nodded. "That's good news," he said.

Loveless frowned, frustrated. Glancing at Jim, he asked, "What did he say to you?"

Ignoring Loveless's question and ignoring the diminutive man too, the younger special agent furrowed his brow in concern. "Are you okay Artie? You're a little pale buddy."

Artie waved a dismissive hand and then used his hands to respond. "That's nothing," he mouthed. "It's just the after effects of the knockout gas. Headache and nausea. It will pass. By the way it was a very good idea to use it." He touched his newly stitched left eyebrow then his bandaged arm wincing each time. "Thanks for playing nursemaid Jim."

Jim's smile broadened. "You're welcome."

Loveless crossed his arms on his chest, upset. "I can't read lips you know. What the hell did you say Mr. Gordon?"

Glaring at the little man Artemus huffed and turned his back.

WWW

 _Later that night_

Loveless looked at the chess board, frowning, irritated, upset. He was checkmate, again, in less than two minutes and for three times in a row.

He looked up at Jim sitting on a chair in front of him. The other man was grinning in victory. "I never lose at chess. How did you do it?"

Jim cast a glance at Artemus. The other man was sitting heavily on the couch, his shoulders slumped, the side of his head was leaning on the backrest. He was sleeping soundly, wrapped in a blanket with a loaded Winchester and a gun both resting in his lap. "Artie is a Master in chess. He taught me everything I know. If you're not happy, then sue him."

The little man curled up in his armchair and pulled the blanket over his shoulders. Almost all the windows had been smashed by the bullets and a cold draught came through the glass-less openings and bullet holes. "It's freezing in here, I'm going to catch a cold." And then he sneezed.

Pointing at the door of the galley, Jim said, "You could go in the galley a make coffee on the stove and prepare something to eat for us. The galley is intact. It's not freezing in there."

Looking at his partner again, Jim saw that Marmie and Aztec had taken possession of the top of the backrest of the couch. AG had chosen to sit on the work table.

The three cats were gazing at Loveless, in defense mode, ready to shred Loveless into tiny pieces if he did something bad to Artemus.

Loveless muttered something under his breath and stood… and was thrown against the table as the train abruptly braked with a loud screeching noise.

He groaned. "Not again!"

In a flash Jim grabbed his revolver he had placed on the table in case something happen again (and he was right, it had just happened), cocked the hammer and stood. "No stop is scheduled before the next town to take on water, so yes, again," he said as the loud whistle of the Wanderer resounded, twice signaling an immediate danger. He shook Artie's shoulder. "Artie Wake up!' And the older man awoke with a start and sat upright on the couch, blinking dazedly, still groggy from his nap.

Artie breathed, "What…?"

In a flash Jim placed a finger on his partner's lips, silencing him that way. "Shhh," he whispered. Fortunately the train was still slowing down in big screeching noises and the diminutive man didn't hear anything. "Artie, come with me."

Holding his gun, Artie followed his partner onto the remnants of the rear platform. "Are we going to be attacked again?" he asked in a hushed voice, wincing. His voice was still warped, and speaking was painful.

Nodding Jim said, "Unfortunately, yes."

The train braked again until he was at full stop. Loveless decided it was time for him to defend himself and grabbed Artie's rifle which was sitting on the coffee table.

Unaware of that Jim placed a hand on Artie's shoulder. "Stay here with Loveless. Protect him." Then he jumped to the ground as there were no steps anymore – and Colt in his hand, he ran toward the locomotive, noticing large tree trunks that had toppled across the railroad, as he reached it. he noticed they had been chopped down to force the Wanderer to stop. Yes, no doubt, it was a trap!

Holding his gun, hammer cocked, ready to fire, Artemus scanned the area around him, trying to see something in the almost obscurity thanks to the full moon. But there was nothing, nothing but big trees and deep shadows lining the railroad.

They had stopped in the middle of nowhere. He mused. it was perfect for an ambush. He was going to turn around to see what Loveless was doing, when he froze as he heard a faint hiss, very short. Then a split second later something hit his head, hard, above his ear and he instantly felt a sharp and violent pain. He yelped and seeing stars dancing in front of his eyes he staggered backward his hand pressed on the aching and bleeding side of his head. His vision blacked out and he collapsed beside the bullet-damaged work table like a deadweight, passed out.

Suddenly a feminine silhouette dressed in black came out from behind a group of trees, holding a sling in her hand.

It went down the slope bordering the railroad and stopped beside the heavily damaged rear platform of the train. The woman picked up the well-rounded white stone lying on the ground before putting it back in the small pouch containing her other projectiles.

She leaped on the train with agility and then moved toward Artemus's immobile frame. She put her sling in the pocket of her tight jacket and pulled out a long knife from her right knee-high boot.

She knelt beside Artemus and… paused. She trailed his jawline with a gloved fingertip. "Ilyen jóképű ember, kár," she said. (Such a handsome man, it's a pity). She lifted up the knife she was holding above Artie's chest, right above his heart and… froze hearing a door open.

She looked up and found herself face with the muzzle of a rifle – held by a little man with gray hair, blue eyes and smiling coldly.

Holding a Winchester Loveless grinned and said, "If you want to stay alive, I wouldn't do that if I were you. Even if I'd love to see Mr. Gordon's dead body. But I will be the one to kill him – not you."

She muttered a series of 'foreign' curses, her eyes flashing. She dropped the knife to the floor and reluctantly lifted her hands above her head in surrender.

Marmalade looked up at Loveless, spat and hissed at him, then Aztec did the same thing to the woman dressed in black.

Crouching beside Artemus, still unconscious, AG started to lick his owner's face.

WWW

 _Later_

Pointing his Colt at the feminine silhouette in black clothes Jim pulled back the black hood covering the woman's head and discovered a blue-eyed blond.

She shot a black look at the Secret Service agent and spat something in her language that neither Jim nor Loveless recognized.

Ignoring the young woman's insults – they supposed they were insults - Jim again checked the ropes tying her tightly to the chair then used her black hood to gag her. "I'm sorry to keep you like this, and here, but the cell is full – and putting you in there with men wouldn't be correct – and dangerous for you."

Loveless grinned. "It looks like she's not happy. She failed and she's now your prisoner. Her only achievement is to have knocked out Artemus Gordon with a sling. A very interesting weapon the sling, it's very old, it's unsophisticated, but it's very efficient and very deadly. You can kill a man using a sling and a stone." He looked at the other man laid on the gold embroidered couch, still passed out. "Fortunately, she just hurt him and Mr. Gordon's head is hard."

Frowning in concern Jim moved toward the bullet-riddled dresser and took out the miraculously intact first aid kit and came to sit on the edge of the couch.

He glanced at the diminutive man and said, "I thought I would never tell you this one day but thank you." He extended his right hand. "Thank you. for saving Artemus and capturing this woman."

Loveless met Jim's eyes and took his hand. "You're welcome, Mr. West." He grinned. "I couldn't let her deprive me of the pleasure of killing you and Mr. Gordon myself, later and in the most painful way possible for you both," he said, glee evident in his voice.

Seeing the younger man glare at him the little man cackled and then added, "Just kidding. I have decided to change my life. I'm a different man now. The Miguelito Loveless you knew is gone, forever. I wouldn't harm a fly now."

Looking down at Artie, Jim said, "Saving Artie's life and capturing that woman is certainly a good start for a new life without crime." Then he furrowed his brow again, not believing that Loveless could change. His always trustworthy intuition was telling him that something was wrong with Loveless. He was hiding something. But what? Did he really want to kill the President as Artemus thought? If so, how?

He opened up the first aid kit and grabbed a small bottle of disinfectant and a cloth. He observed the graze, not deep which meant that Artie wouldn't have a scar and wouldn't need stitches and noticed that there was blood slowly drying all around it. "It's a graze, nothing serious."

He gently and carefully cleaned the wound and bruised bump left by the small stone then placed a clean piece of gauze on top of it before cutting out a large strip of cloth. He placed it on top of the gauze before wrapping the band around Artie's head.

Looking at the blond woman again, Loveless said, "I'm going to make some coffee while you're playing nursemaid." Then he left the parlor car to go to the galley.

Hearing a moan, Jim took Artemus's hand as his partner was slowly opening his eyes. "Artie? Open your eyes buddy."

Blinking, Artie turned his pounding head to the side, making him nauseous and Jim's face swam into focus. He let out a breath. "I…don't feel very good, J'm. Headache… hurts."

In a flash Jim placed a finger on his partner's lips again, silencing him. "Hush, Loveless is in the galley making some coffee. He won't hear you if you keep your voice down, Artie." He breathed out a sigh of relief. "I know buddy, but at least you do recognize me. The last time you were hit in your temple by a bullet, you had a temporary memory loss, for two weeks. You didn't recall my name, yours, the names of our cats… Not even your mother and Harry when you came back home for a medical leave."

He stood and headed toward the galley. He came back shortly after holding a glass of water. Grabbing a bottle of liquid painkiller from the first aid kit, he let a few drops fell into it and said, "Your headache will vanish with that, in a few minutes."

Closing his eyes, Artemus rasped, "Wha' pened? S'thing hit me…" And he raised a limp hand at his aching temple, finding fabric under his fingertips. "Ban'age?"

Lowering Artie's hand, Jim replied, "Yes, and don't touch it. You were lucky, that projectile just grazed your temple. If that stone had hit you square on your temple, you'd be dead. Thankfully, the worst you'll get are headaches and some nasty bruising and a bump." He fluffed Artie's pillow and added, "She wanted to kill you, and she missed. I'm glad she did. That's why she tried to stab you…"

His eyes fluttering open, the older man mumbled, "What? She?" then he took a deep breath and said, "I God! Splitin' headache…"

Jim brought the glass of yellow-colored water to his best friend's lips. "Drink," he said.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Artie took a couple of sips then, slumped bonelessly onto the couch, in a wave of dizziness. "Mild concussion…" He whispered. He touched his aching temple again, hissed in pain and touched the piece of cloth again that Jim had placed around his head. "Am I bleeding?"

Smiling reassuringly Jim replied, "No, the bleeding has stopped, and it's just a small wound." He reached out and took the sling he had placed on the coffee table. "You were hit with a stone thrown by this sling. I confiscated that from our new friend there." Then he pointed at the blond woman.

Raising his eyebrows in surprise Artie took the sling then glanced at the all black-clad woman. Feeling instantly much better, he said, keeping his voice low. "Oh, I'm feeling better already. And she's lovely…" Then addressed her with a large smile.

Rolling his eyes, Jim said, "Stop flirting, she tried to kill you."

Chuckling, Artie managed to pull himself into a sitting position – fighting nausea – and keeping in what was in his stomach. "That's not fair you know, you can flirt with all kind of dangerous women, killers even, and I can't. Who is she?"

Looking at the female prisoner, Jim replied, "I don't know. Another foreign agent I suppose. The only thing I know is that she works alone. No partners. She had a good plan and it almost worked. She separated us, neutralized you – but wanted to kill you – and me later, then she would enter the Wanderer to kidnap Loveless while I was busy. It was Loveless who captured her, you know? And doing it, he saved your life."

Even more surprised than before, Artie croaked, "What?"

Glancing at the door of the galley Jim added, "His plan is not to kill us – at least not before seeing Grant and talking to him, after that it's another story - because he could have let that woman stab you in your heart with her knife and shot me with the gun he was holding. It was easy. But he didn't."

Immediately Artemus touched his chest, above his heart feeling his pulse accelerate at that revelation. "This is only a postponement, Jim. He has wanted to kill us for years. He'll try again, I'm sure. I'm not buying that he has changed at all."

Standing Jim said, "She said something to me earlier in a language I didn't know. She had nothing on her. I was counting on you to tell me where she comes from."

Pulling himself upright Artie swayed on legs like jelly for a few seconds before Jim offered him his arm to stabilize him. "Thanks Jim", he said. He pulled up a chair and sat in front of the blond woman. "Speaking of foreign language, the bandits who attacked us came from the Ottoman Empire," he said.

Jim was surprised. "Really? Did you translate what was written behind the photo of Loveless? I didn't know you speak that language."

Nodding, Artie took out the gag from the woman's mouth and replied, "I don't. But I know a few words and I recognized a few of them I was able to translate. I don't know what is written on the back of the photo, I suppose there are instructions to follow after the kidnapping." Then he asked her, in French, "Bonjour, puis-je savoir quel est votre nom?" but there was no reaction from the blond attacker.

He asked her the same thing in different languages, Spanish, Russian, Italian and German, etc. and saw her flinch almost imperceptibly when he talked to her in Hungarian.

He smiled, "Ah! She's Hungarian, Jim and an agent of the Österreichisch-Ungarische Monarchie or the Austro-Hungarian Empire."

Surprised Jim said, "I didn't know you spoke Hungarian, Artie."

Smiling, Artie waved his hand. "Well, I'm not fluent, I know only the basics. I had the opportunity to talk with Krisztina, the lovely daughter of the Ambassador of the Austro-Hungarian Empire when I was in Washington. She taught me many new words – amongst other things." He cleared his throat and winked at Jim, then, placing his hand on his pounding and aching temple he added, "But I'm a gentleman, I won't tell you anything else." Looking at the Hungarian agent, he repeated. "Mit hívsz magadnak?" but the blond woman didn't say a single word. He sighed. "She's not going to say anything, Jim, not even her name."

Miguelito Loveless entered the parlor car holding a pot of fresh coffee and three cups. "Ah! Mr. Gordon, you're awake, perfect. Coffee?"

Giving Loveless a black look, Artie grumbled noises under his breath and mouthed, "Still poisoned? Then no." and he added, half-heartedly, "Thank you for saving my life."

The little man beamed, looking quite pleased with himself. "You're welcome."

WWW

 _Kansas City, the next evening_

 _Railroad station yard_

Colonel Edgar J. Finley of Fort Brown looked around him, with a hint of nostalgia. The parlor car of the Wanderer resembled a battlefield. "It reminds me of a house in Gettysburg I had commandeered for General Meade after the Grays used it as a command post before they had to flee our troops, their tails between their legs," he said then smiled.. "Well, it seems you had quite a gunfight here, gentlemen," he added, looking at Jim and Artie standing side by side. "Once your train is repaired and ready to depart, I'll have 20 of my best men board it with enough weapons to hold a siege. They will escort you to Washington. In the meantime, Colonel Richmond asked me to offer you hospitality at Fort Brown and specified that Majors West and Gordon had to stay there with Dr. Loveless for his protection and yours. So, you won't need to go to the local hotel. As for all the foreign agents they have been placed in custody in the cells at the fort. They will be transferred to Washington at the end of the week and delivered to the Secret Service. I suggest you pack a few things, gentlemen."

Smiling, Artemus pointed at the two travel bags sat on the sofa. "Already done, Sir," he mouthed very disappointed not to go to the hotel. He hated the lack of comfort at the military barracks. Turning toward Jim he used sign language to add, "That's too bad. I know a superb hotel in town, with comfortable rooms all equiped with a private bathroom. There's a restaurant inside where you can eat the best steaks in the whole country and there's a bar with fine French wines too…" He sighed. "I guess we'll have to settle for bad food, hard, narrow cots and a collective shower room." He sighed again. "And be woken to the sound of the bugle, at dawn, when we could have spent the morning sleeping. I hate this mission!"

Jim chuckled softly. "You're such a sybarite," he said. Seeing that Finley was intrigued, he explained, "My partner's neck was badly hurt a few days ago during a mission, Colonel. He can't talk. But fortunately it's only temporary."

Miguelito Loveless raised his hand. "I want to sleep in a priva te room, not in a dormitory. I need my comfort and my privacy, Colonel."

Finley nodded. "That won't be a problem, Dr. Loveless. I already thought about it." Looking at the two agents again he continued, "As you live here together I gave you a room with twin beds, gentlemen in the quarters of Lieutenant Johnson who's on leave. I didn't want to separate you."

Pleased by the attention Jim smirked. "That's perfect, Sir, thank you." He patted his best friend's shoulder playfully. "Artemus can't talk but he snores pretty good."

Artie gave Jim a hurt look. "I don't," he mouthed.

Tbc.


	5. Act Four

**THE NIGHT OF THE FAKE HAND**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT FOUR**

 _Later at Fort Brown, guests quarters_

Completely exhausted, drained, Artemus Gordon dropped his travel bag at the foot of the narrow bed and, still fully clothed, his gun-belt still buckled around his waist he slumped heavily on the granite-like mattress. He fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

Smiling, amused; James West put his travel bag on a chair and said, "You're taking the bed next to the window, I guess?"

He managed to stay awake long enough to remove his gun-belt and his boots. Then he imitated his partner a few seconds later. "'Night Artie."

The two men stayed dead to the world till the next morning.

WWW

It was sunrise.

Opening his eyes, Jim was the first to wake hearing the ringing bugle call signaling the troops to awaken for morning roll call.

He smiled broadly remembering a few good memories of his time in the cavalry during the war – and remembered his meeting with a certain Union spy…

Rolling onto his side, facing Artie, he looked at his partner occupying the bed next to him, lit by the light of the dawning morning streaming through the window of the room. Artemus was lying on his back, spread-eagled on top of the bedspread, his arms dangling over the side of the bed. He was sleeping peacefully. His face was slack, his features relaxed and his mouth was slightly open and…

He smiled at the sound of the light snoring and steady breathing coming from the other man. "Oh yes, you do snore, Artie," he said. And obviously he hadn't heard the reveille.

He sat up on the edge of the bed, yawned and scratched his head. Then he stood stretched and shook the older man's shoulder. "Wake up Artie."

But all he got was a louder snoring.

He took his emerald green jacket off, pulled up the sleeves of his white shirt then poured some cold water in an enameled basin and splashed his face with it. He mopped it with a rough towel then looked at his reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall above the small table.

He seriously needed a shave, he realized. "Mmm, there's a barber in each fort," he said as he heard his stomach growl, needing to be filled. "I'm famished. Breakfast first."

He pivoted and noticed Artie yawning and shifting on his narrow bed, and as his eyes fluttered open. "Hi Artie! Time to rise and shine buddy, it's 0530 and we have only 30 minutes to eat our breakfast, after that it will be too late." He watched Artemus rolling onto his side, facing the wall, turning his back to him, burying his head in his pillow. "Come on Artie. Let's go to the mess hall." But Artemus didn't move nor let out a sound. "They don't serve breakfast after 0600 you know that and there's no room service."

He only heard a pillow-muffled groan.

He took the pitcher again and padded toward Artemus. Grinning he poured cold water on his best friend's head eliciting a gasp from his partner followed by a curse and a bear-like growl. "There, now you're clean, let's go to the mess hall, I'm famished!"

Sputtering Artie pulled himself into a sitting position, his hair and face dripping. "That's not funny, James. What are you 5? Don't do that ever again," he rasped angrily and then broke into a weak cough.

Frowning Jim asked with a note of concern in his voice, "Are you okay? I'm sorry, I didn't want to upset you buddy."

Rubbing his face Artemus nodded. "I'm fine. A bit wet though." He ran his fingers through his wet curls and heaved a long sigh. "I'm sorry for scolding you Jim, but… I'm a bit tense since I was hanged. I know it's a normal reaction… Plus that mission – and Loveless, plus the fact that I don't know what's going to happen in the Oval Office, boy! All this is getting on my nerves. It's not a good time to cross me," he said.

Reassured Jim smiled. "Duly noted." He grabbed the towel and threw it to his best friend. "Use this Artie, you look like as if someone had poured water on you."

His anger falling off, Artie gave a short laugh, stretching his arms upwards, "Very funny. Good morning, Jim." He toweled his face dry and said, "We are consigned here till the repairs on our train are finished, Jim. What are we going to do?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't know, We'll see. Let's start with breakfast."

His own stomach growling it needed food, now, Artie nodded. "That's a good idea." Then he frowned remembering the usual non-appetizing military food. "Or not."

WWW

 _Later in the mess hall_

Revolted Artemus looked down anxiously at the breakfast a soldier serving people in the mess hall had just placed on his tray: there was a plate with oatmeal, so thick and dry it could be used as mortar to build a wall, there were scrambled eggs on the second plate which looked the wrong color, and, in a third one were sitting two carbonized slices of toast and the coffee in his cup was surely strong enough to kill a bull, he mused. "Good Lord!" he mouthed.

He looked at Jim sitting on a bench beside him who was wolfing down his oatmeal hungrily and scrunched his face in disgust. He touched his partner's arm and said, without a sound, "How can you eat that awful, revolting thing? I wouldn't serve this to my worst enemy."

Replying with a smile, Jim then said, "I can eat anything when I'm famished." And then he bit into a slice of burnt toast and added, "Eat your food, Artie. It's not that bad."

Glancing at the door leading to the mess hall kitchen Artie silently mouthed, "I know what I am going to do here instead of dying of boredom. For the next two days, I'm going to teach the 'cuisine basics' to the fort's so-called cook: first lesson, how to prepare decent oatmeal without poisoning people."

Jim gave a short laugh. "That's a good idea. But remember to stay silent, do it using paper and a pen, and your hands."

Holding his cup of coffee Artemus chuckled. "It's not going to be easy." And took a sip – immediately regretting it as it was like swallowing molten lava and it burnt his throat. He grimaced and coughed, covering his mouth while doing it.

Colonel Finley and Major Bowen joined the two agents, taking places on a bench in front of them. "Good morning gentlemen," the both said in chorus. Jim and Artie did the same – Artie mouthing it.

Finley took a sip of coffee, savoring it and curious he asked, "Have the two of you known each other for a long time?"

Jim nodded. "Yes Sir, since the end of the war. I was General Grant's aide de camp when I met Artemus. In fact, the first time I saw him, I shot him and I almost killed him."

Finley and Bowen exchanged a stunned look. Artemus just chuckled and Jim grinned enjoying the two senior officers' reaction.

It happened every time he told that story.

Intrigued the Colonel said, "You have a lot of explaining to do, Mr. West."

Placing a hand on his partner's shoulder Jim explained, "Yes Sir. During the war Captain Artemus Gordon was a master spy working under General Grant's direct orders for almost two years when I shot him. I didn't know him at that time. We never met. Like all the officers I heard about a mysterious visitor – a spy - coming at night, several times per week, to see the General, but that was all. General Grant received Artie alone in his tent and Artie was always disguised to avoid possible Confederate spies who had infiltrated the camp from recognizing him, and he usually left before dawn."

Using a knife Artemus carefully started removing the burnt layer of his slice of toast and glared at two soldiers who were sniggering at him.

The shorter one mouthed to Artie, "Sissy!"

They continued to make fun of Artemus, ignoring the agent's black look and anger, mimicking what he was doing with accentuated womanly gestures.

Other soldiers chuckled and Finley's and Bowen's gazes zeroed in on the two soldiers – then looked at the older Secret Service agent – ready to explode.

Seeing that too, and knowing that it wasn't a good time to annoy his 'on edge' best friend, Jim said, "Take cover!" and waited for the explosion.

Artie grabbed Jim's knife and suddenly threw it at the tallest man – and the blade embedded halfway in the wooden wall, just above his head.

Sniggers and chuckles vanished within seconds and everyone in the mess hall froze in surprise and the mocking soldiers then gulped in uneasiness.

Smiling, Jim explained, "Artie is like a grizzly bear before his first cup of coffee. Don't bother him. After that, he becomes human again."

Finley called the two soldiers who had bothered Artemus Gordon to him and said, "You will come to my office after breakfast. The man you made fun of is a federal agent, and has the rank of Major. I'm going to think about a disciplinary sanction. Dismiss!"

The two men paled in worry, saluted and left. The other soldiers who had mocked Artie too lowered their eyes to the ground, trying to shrink away and didn't stick around.

Looking at his partner who was still frowning, upset, Jim said, "And you should see what Artemus can do with a fork and that's not to mention teaspoons…"

Artie burst out laughing, relaxing at the same time. He mouthed, "I play music with them, turning them into a percussion instrument, you turn them into lethal weapons," Then added a piece of sugar to his molasses-like coffee, grinning.

Jim patted his best friend's shoulder in appreciation and then he continued, "It all began after the siege of Petersburg. It was the end of the day and I was part of the General's escort when I saw a confederate soldier suddenly tumble on the way before me. He was holding a gun, and my first reaction was to protect the General riding beside me. I grabbed my gun and fired at him. The General who had just recognized Artie tried to stop me, but unfortunately it was too late." He gulped his coffee, poured himself another one and then added, "I was very surprised to see the General dismount and then take the Gray-clad soldier in his arms. The General called for his surgeon, Dr. Henderson and shortly after, he told me that I had just shot at an Union Captain working undercover to infiltrate the enemy army – a spy - hence the confederate uniform Artie was wearing. His name was Artemus Gordon." He looked at his partner now battling to open a pot of jelly. "I felt very bad. Artie was bleeding from a wound to his torso and it hurt like hell..."

Holding the pot of jelly he had finally opened, Artemus patted his best friend's arm soothingly with his other hand and silently said, "You didn't know that." Then he smiled.

Jim nodded. "Yes, I didn't know that, but I still feel responsible of what happened to you, Artemus. I almost killed you that day."

Colonel Finley was surprised. "You can read lips?"

Jim nodded. "Yes Colonel, and Artie taught me sign language too when we started working together in the Secret Service, it's a silent way to communicate. It's sometimes very useful." He paused and continued, "Dr. Henderson couldn't do anything here, so he gave Artemus a powerful sedative, knocking him out and it was only once at the General's camp that he took care of Artie. Dr. Henderson managed to save Artemus's life, but that was close, too close. General Grant kept Artemus in a bunk under his tent until he felt well enough to rest under his own tent."

Both Finley and Bowen were very surprised again and looked at Artemus who was now determined to spread a layer of almost solid jelly on his now barely edible toast. "President Grant… I mean General Grant must have appreciated you very much for doing that," the CMO said.

Blushing a little with pleasure, Artie nodded.

Jim explained. "You see, Sir, General Grant kind of adopted Artie during the war. He loves him like he is his own son. And Artemus has a son's love for the President." He paused seeing a new stunned look on both the Colonel's and the Major's faces. Then he continued, "Because I felt guilty about what I did and because that man I shot intrigued me a lot, I asked the General if I could spend my free time at his side, and he accepted." He placed his hand on his companion's shoulder again, proudly, and said, "And I discovered an exceptional man. General Grant told me that Artemus was a brilliant actor and master of disguise before the war, a very intelligent man, a scientist with degrees in chemistry and mechanical engineering, always inventing wonderful gadgets he used on his missions… He told me too that Artie was a formidable officer, a great spy, using disguise to infiltrate the enemy forces. Battles were won thanks to the intel he had transmitted, using pigeons – that's why he loves them a lot! - if he couldn't come back behind the Union lines." He smiled broadly and then added, "The next evening, Artemus opened his eyes, looked at me, frowned, and recognizing me he said, "You shot me!" and I said, "Yes, I did but you were wearing the wrong uniform, Captain." He smiled and then added, "Before the war was over we did a mission together – our very first mission. It was during the Petersburg campaign. We failed and were almost killed."

Artie ate the last bit of his toast and took another one, a little less burnt. Then using his knife, he started to scrape the burned layer.

Jim went on, "After the war, I stayed in the Army as General Grant's aide de camp. As for Artie, as he wasn't an active officer during the war but a volunteer he became an actor again, in Chicago. When General Grant became President he invited us to join the Secret Service, we told him that we would accept, on two conditions only: to be partners and work together and to be at his side again, anytime necessary to protect him. The President accepted immediately – of course, as Special Agents of the Treasury Department we have other missions, like investigating all crime under federal jurisdiction, from murder to bank robbery to illegal gambling." He pressed Artie's shoulder in affection. "Since that time we have stayed together – or almost because the President kept him in Washington twice as his personal secretary. But before we became partners, we both worked on solo missions to get accustomed to our new job, and it lasted 6 months. I was traveling in the Wanderer – my private train, comfortably, and Artemus less-comfortably in a small wagon called the 'Gordon's Traveling Emporium' – but he loved that. It reminded him his days on the road when he was still an actor. We got officially partnered together after we captured Juan Manolo and Artie became my roommate on board the Wanderer. We were together again."

Finley smiled. "That's a hell of a story, Mr. West." He looked at Artemus in sincere admiration. "You're a special man, Mr. Gordon."

Eyes twinkling with pleasure, Artemus bowed his head. "Thank you Sir," he mouthed.

Miguelito Loveless holding a tray filled with breakfast took his place beside Jim and pointed at the concrete-like oatmeal in his plate. "Are you sure that thing is edible?" he asked in profound irritation. "Because only pigs could eat that."

For once Artie agreed with Loveless.

WWW

 _Much later, in the guests quarters_

Lying on his bed Jim was relaxing, reading the local newspaper after a hard day – when the door opened and Artemus entered the room, his shoulders all slouched. "Hey Artie! I haven't seen you since this morning. Where have you been?"

The older man took off his bicolor and fringed jacket off, slowly, wincing, folded it on a chair and then he slumped heavily on his narrow bed and yawned widely. "I spent the whole day in the kitchen. I taught the cook simple recipes and then I prepared dinner for all the 250 men of the Fort. I'm completely exhausted. I have no energy left." He tapped his pillow and lay down with a sigh of pleasure, relaxing. "Everything hurts, my arms, my hands, my shoulders, and my back. But at least we'll eat good food for dinner – and for future meals… I hope we will anyway." He yawned again, rubbing his tired eyes. "Otherwise… I will kill the cook."

Smiling Jim turned toward his best friend. "I love good food, that's why you're my private Chef. Artie, I should have known that you were in the fort's kitchen.

Closing his eyes Artie asked, "What did you do to keep you busy?"

Sitting on his bed, Jim responded, "Boxing, hand-to-hand combat, shooting targets and playing chess. I was busy. What about Loveless?"

Stretching cat-like, Artemus replied, "I asked him a few minutes ago, I mean I wrote a message asking how was his day. He told me he had spent the day in the library reading books about battles, military strategies and armaments and then he had discussed medical procedures, surgery, various and varied remedies, etc. with the CMO. He's still with him. They probably are talking about drugs and poisons…" He yawned again longer and rubbed his tired eyes. "Jim, could you wake me just before dinner… because I… I… need… a nap." Then He succumbed to sleep, his head lolling to the side.

Snores.

Jim smiled. "I will Artie. I wouldn't let you miss dinner."

WWW

 _The next evening, on board the Wanderer_

Smiling broadly Jim ran his fingertips over the glass panel of the entrance door. "It's fantastic!," he said, amazed. "It was a good thing I gave photos of the Wanderer to the craftsmen who did all that work, so they can repair and replace everything identically. Good job!" He turned around and looked around him. The parlor car looked like nothing had happened. "We're home again, Artie. The whole train is now ready to depart." He joined his best friend who was sitting at the work table, his finger on the telegraph key, pressing it, sending a message to Colonel Richmond in Washington.

There was a knock at the door and a young Cavalry Lieutenant entered the room. He saluted and said, "I'll be commanding the detachment protecting you until we reach Washington. My men have boarded the train. We can leave anytime."

Jim nodded. "Thank you Lieutenant Moore."

Moore saluted again and said, "I hope we will play further games of chess and I hope I will win." Then he headed toward the opposite door, his men and him having settled into the stable car.

The officer paused mid-way to gently scratch underneath Marmalade's and Aztec's chins both rolled together into one big furball on the table – and two sets of satisfied purrs started immediately. Saying "I love cats" he left the room.

Jim smiled. "I like that young man, he reminds me of me when I was his age. I beat him at chess twice. We'll have time to get to know each other better during the journey to Washington."

The telegraph suddenly rattled and Artemus translated the message, writing it on a piece of paper. Jim looked at it above his best friend's shoulder and read, "Your plan to replace the President during the meeting with the fake Dr. Loveless is approved. We'll take any necessary security procedure once you are at the White house. Signed Colonel Richmond."

Right after that Artemus acknowledged the message then closed the fake-books telegraph box hiding the telegraph key.

Crossing his arms on his chest, Jim asked, "A fake Dr. Loveless?"

Crossing his hands on the leather underhand, Artie cleared his throat and explained, "I have a theory based on the fact that Loveless is very different from the man we both know – for example, he's relatively calm and composed, not commanding and not too disagreeable. And I don't think he has changed – a leopard can't change its spots, you know that. It's like he tries to be another person to charm the President – or rather, is a different person. He's not himself… that's why I think he's a doppelganger."

Sitting on the couch Jim replied, "Now that you're telling me this, Artie, I think you're probably right…I thought about it too."

The older man grinned. "Great minds think alike," he said.

Pleased by the compliment Jim smiled. Then he said, "He created a second me, so he can creates a second him. But this double is not perfect, for example he's helpful, a quality that the true Loveless thinks is a flaw and that he never shows."

Artie nodded. "If that man is not the real Loveless, those attacks were real. And Loveless – I mean the real one – is behind them. He didn't hire those people, but he made sure to attract them by letting the information out, somehow, that he would give away all his fantastic machines to the President in exchange for immunity away, to give even more credibility to his fake self. And, several foreign Secret Service have not resisted the temptation to kidnap Loveless to have his machines."

Jim nodded. "And Loveless – the real one, did that too to annoy us." He started petting AG who had taken his place on his lap. "Loveless built all that set up to be able to send a doppelganger to kill Grant. Killing the President would create a total chaos – from which he would benefit, because everything he does has a goal, to serve his own interests."

Rubbing his chin pensively, Artie said, "True. We can list why the real Loveless wants to kill Grant, he's been telling us for years. Such as he wants to create chaos, confusion and disorder in the country to be able to benefit from it. Like 'seizing' a little defended territory to make his own country out of it, a country he would rule like a king or an Emperor… Or simply because Grant sent him in prison multiple times… and the list goes on and on." He sighed, upset. "Okay. We know that Loveless is not Loveless, but it doesn't tell us how that doppelganger is going to kill the President, and that intrigues me, and worries me. In any case he'll end up dead. Killed on spot in the Oval Office or hanged after being captured and sent for trial."

Shaking his head Jim said, "You shouldn't, because Grant won't meet the fake Loveless, you will…" Then he realized that Artie would be the doppelganger's target. To avoid that, he proposed, "Maybe we should put him in the rolling cell and start questioning him?"

Looking at his cats grooming each other, Artie shook his head and said. "No. He wouldn't tell us anything – except that he's really Miguelito Loveless and that our story is a fairy tale." He took a new sip of coffee. "He would tell us that he will cancel the visit to Washington and the meeting with the President and we would have to let him go. He'd vanish. He knows where Loveless is, and if we want to capture him, we have to let him go ahead with his plan or rather Loveless's plan – then after he tries to kill Grant, I mean me posing as the President, we will arrest him and ask him questions. I'm sure that the President will commute his death sentence to a prison sentence if he tells us where the real Loveless is."

His brow furrowed in worry for his partner who was going to risk his life, Jim asked, "As he won't have any weapon on him… he could carry a bomb inside him like the fake Jim and the fake Artemus Gordon Dr. Faustina created."

Artie shook his head. "No, they were just… zombie-like creatures, incapable of thinking, just able to follow orders. Besides, they were carrying time bombs. It was impossible for Loveless to predict the exact time his double will meet the President. Did you search him when he boarded the train?"

Jim nodded. "I did, and I didn't find anything potentially dangerous neither on him or in his travel bag." He sighed. "I suppose we have to wait and see what happens – and I don't like that. He'll try to kill you thinking that you are the President, Artie."

Smiling reassuringly Artemus said. "I know, but it's going to be okay, Jim, don't worry. I'd be wearing a bullet proof jacket. And you'll be here with Jeremy. You won't let the old Artie be killed, will you?"

WWW

 _Four days later, in the White House_

Ulysses S. Grant (Artemus Gordon) gestured to the chair placed in front of his desk. "Please take a seat Dr. Loveless, we have much to discuss."

Keeping his face neutral, Artie had an inner smile. His voice came back to normal a few hours before the meeting between 'the President' and the fake Loveless. Just in time, he thought.

Fake Loveless sat on the chair and looked up at Jim West and at Artemus Gordon (Jeremy Pike wearing a mask of Artie's face) both standing behind the President, almost at attention. "I thought we would be alone to discuss things, Mr. President," he said, looking upset.

Fake Grant shook his head. "Mr. West and Mr. Gordon are here for my security, Dr. Loveless. They have guns and are ready to use them to protect me. I'm the President of the United States and I have many enemies. People often try to kill me."

Miguelito Loveless smirked. "I know, I tried many times, but I was never so close to you…" He shaped his hand like it was a gun. "If I had a gun… Bang! You're dead!"

Impenetrable Fake Grant ignored Loveless's childish comment and demeanor and nodded. "And you failed each time, thanks to both Mr. West and Mr. Gordon." He opened the silver box sat on his desk and took out a cigar. He bit the tip off, dropped it in an ashtray, put the cigar in his mouth and leaned toward the lit match Jim was holding next to his face. He took two puffs then said, "I'm listening to you, Dr. Loveless."

Faux Loveless nodded. "Alright, Mr. President," he said while positioning his fingers so that his hand looked like a gun, again… and he fired, twice.

BANG! BANG!

Then two small BOOMS resounded.

Hit at point blank square in his chest by two explosive bullets, Artemus Gordon toppled backward, falling from his armchair, losing consciousness under the impact.

Fake Loveless grinned in victory. "Long live the Confederation and General Lee!" He said, before Jeremy Pike leaped on him, tackling him to the carpeted floor a few seconds later.

In a flash Jim knelt beside his best friend and ripped open Artie's black vest and waistcoat and white shirt, sending buttons flying everywhere in the process - revealing the front side of the bullet proof vest his partner was fortunately wearing and found bits of explosive bullets embedded in the thick fabric just above the heart. Without that protection Artemus would have been killed instantly, his heart shredded by the shrapnel, he thought paling a little.

He patted Artie's cheek gently but firmly. "Wake up, Artie!"

Suddenly the door of the Oval Office opened and the real President Grant entered the room framed by two soldiers armed with rifles and followed by Colonel Richmond holding a gun.

Ulysses S. Grant barely glanced at the fake Loveless pinned to the floor by Jeremy Pike and then moved to the unconscious man sprawled on his back behind his Louis XV work table.

His brow furrowed in worry, he asked Jim, "How is he?" while kneeling on the other side of a passed out Artemus Gordon.

Regaining some color Jim smiled reassuringly. "Artemus is alright Mr. President. He's just unconscious due to the impact of the explosive bullets on his bullet proof vest – and on his ribs. He just had the wind knocked out of him and lost consciousness." He saw Artemus open his eyes, moaning, and helped him to move into a sitting position. "Are you okay buddy?"

Grimacing in pain, Artie looked at his partner and said, "Yes, ow! It hurts!" And he touched his chest where it hurt. He then noticed Grant knelt at his side he hurried to add. "I'm perfectly fine, Sir. I'm just going to have a few bruises, that's all," as he didn't want Grant to ground him in Washington D.C. again 'for a long time, a very long time,' he thought.

President Grant nodded and then narrowed his eyes not buying it. "It's good to hear that Artemus, but I remember that you have a rendez-vous with Dr. Henderson at the hospital for a complete medical evaluation. He – and only he will tell me if you really are fine."

Feeling a bit embarrassed Artie nodded. "Yes, Mr. President." Then the three men stood and Artie removed his faux beard.

They moved toward the assassin, now standing on his feet that the two soldiers held firmly – with right hand stretched out.

The right sleeve of his vest and shirt had been pulled up, revealing a very sophisticated fake hand, the tip of his index and middle finger were still opened and a little smoke was coming out from them.

Grant nodded. "A very ingenious weapon," he said impressed. "And the hand looks like a real one. It's absolutely remarkable!"

The fake Loveless realizing that the 'first' Grant was in fact Artemus Gordon disguised as the President, scowled and said, "You got me!" He muttered a curse then, glaring at Artie he said, "He warned me that you could do that, but I thought you were still unable to speak, and I was not suspicious ..."

Smiling proud that his stratagem had worked just fine, Artemus replied, "That's what I was hoping for."

Richmond intervened, "By 'he' you mean Dr. Loveless?"

The diminutive man nodded. "Yes, I work for him. I'm Sergeant Oliver Polk, Army of Tennessee!"

Still pointing his gun at the fake Loveless Jeremy Pike said, "You were working for him and the war is over, Mr. Polk."

Polk shook his head. "It's not for us."

Colonel Richmond asked, "Who are 'us'?" He insisted. "Tell me!"

The fake Loveless spat on the carpet with contempt. "I won't say anything to you about my comrades – not even under torture."

Grant, curious asked, "Where did you lose your hand, Sergeant?"

Raising his chin proudly, Polk responded, "At the battle of Chattanooga, fighting your troops!" He grimaced with resentment. "We lost."

Curious too, the Colonel asked in his turn, "How did you end up working for Dr. Loveless?"

Polk responded, "He put and ad in a Savannah newspaper. He was looking for a particular type of man, small in size with a missing hand, who was a former Confederate soldier who wanted to avenge the South. He then transformed me to look like him, physically but also in his way of moving, expressing himself, and he even managed to transform my voice so that it was identical to his own. It took 6 weeks for the transformation to be complete..."

Moving toward the ex-Confederate soldier Artemus took the other man's false hand in his and observed it closely, from every angle, fascinated. "Fascinating! It's one of Dr. Loveless's best inventions so far," he said. Only he could create such a wonderful articulated prosthesis… that can be used as a gun too." He noticed a small bump on the ring finger housed in a very small hatch. "Ah! And there's the trigger."

Glancing at Polk's fake hand harboring a hidden real gun, Jim said, "It's an example of Loveless"s sick humor, an assassin using a 'false gun – and he mimicked a gun with his hand - which is actually a real one." Then he looked at Grant. "He's the tenth ex-confederate soldier who tried to kill you, in three months Mr. President…" Then he lowered his eyes toward the fake Loveless. "To avenge the South and General Lee, right?." The diminutive man glared at him. "But you failed – and Loveless with you."

The faux Loveless smirked. "It's not over yet, damn Yankees," he said, using his ring finger to press in the center of his hand reaching out toward Artemus. "Long live the Confederation and General Lee!" he repeated before grinning in victory.

There was a short metallic click and the word 'bomb' flashed in Artie's head. Polk had activated a bomb hidden in his fake hand and it was about to blow, he realized.

He reacted in a split second, his breath quickening, his chest tightening. "Get down! Everyone down!" he cried out loud. Then he leaped on Grant, catching the President around the waist and bearing him down to the floor, landing hard on top of him, shielding the other man with his own body in order to take the brunt of the coming explosion.

Polk had just enough time to move closer to Artemus – protecting Grant with his own body – before the bomb exploded.

It was a small bomb as it was lodged in Polk's fake hand, but the blast was powerful enough to throw all the other persons still standing in the room to the ground.

The blast hit Artie at close range and he cried out in pain as flames burnt his skin and bits of metal ripped into his flesh.

His ears hurt too.

But the President, lying on the floor beneath him, was safe, that was the most important thing, he thought as he tightened his jaw and clenched his teeth against the excruciating pain he was feeling.

His ears ringing, feeling blood rolling from his scalp down to his neck and his face, he slowly rolled to one side, feeling nauseated, moving away from Grant who sat up, helped by Pike.

Grimacing in pain he asked the President, "Are you alright Sir?"

He saw the President nod and say something to him but didn't hear a single word and realized that the explosion had rendered him temporarily deaf. His ears were ringing loudly. He couldn't even hear his own voice. It had happened before during the war when he was far too close to cannons, and a number of explosions - he thought.

He added, "I can't hear anything, Sir… I'm temporarily deafened by the blast."

Ulysses S. Grant frowned in concern and repeated, "I'm alright, you saved my life, Artemus, thank you very much," then he rubbed his ears in an attempt to make the buzzing go away.

Moaning, gritting his teeth, Artie curled up on himself as the pain on the back of his body increased making his eyes tear up.

Grant gently pulled Artemus onto his lap in a comforting gesture, hearing muffled cries as the other man buried his face against his chest, to suppress them and hide his tears. He looked up at Richmond ordered, "Artemus needs medical attention. I want Dr. Henderson here as soon as possible! And call Dr. Bennett. I want him here as soon as possible."

His ears buzzing, Richmond nodded and holstered his gun. "Yes Sir!" Then glancing at the two soldiers who framed the shredded, bloodied and charred body of the fake Loveless wrapped in tendrils of smoke, he told them, "Go to the Military Hospital, and bring Dr. Henderson here and also bring the White House resident physician! Tell Dr. Bennett what just happened."

The two soldiers, their ears buzzing too, saluted and left the Oval Office.

Kneeling beside Artie, Jim ignored the buzzing in his ears due to the explosion and surveyed his best friend's body – and saw that the nape of his neck was burnt, but not too badly and noticed that dozens of small shrapnel were embedded in the bullet proof vest he was wearing under his black jacket but his butt and legs were not protected.

He was bleeding from multiple small wounds there, and he had blood trickling down the back of his head and down the side of his face. Bits of metal had scraped his scalp too, he noticed.

He took Artie's hand in his interlacing his fingers with his best friend's. "Hold on Artie, help is on its way. Hold on buddy."

Everything went black, Artemus lost consciousness.

Tbc.


	6. Tag

**THE NIGHT OF THE FAKE HAND**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **TAG**

 _Oval Office, a week later_

Dr. Henderson, CMO of the Washington Military Hospital and Grant's personal physician put his medical report on the presidential work table.

He then looked at Artemus Gordon standing beside him. The agent stood at attention, pale and looking like he had been court-martialed a little while ago and was going to be executed in a matter of minutes. "Here's my report on Major Gordon's medical evaluation, Sir. I added the medical report written by Major McGarrett, CMO of Fort Bradley to the file, Mr. President."

Ulysses S. Grant opened the file and rapidly read the first report focusing on the underlined words like choking, respiratory arrest, upper airway badly bruised and swollen, loss of voice, broken ribs. Then he read the second file, focusing on the words written in bold, reading about multiple wounds to the back, legs, nape of the neck and scalp. Temporary hearing loss due to the explosion blast. He looked up at Artie. "It's quite interesting reading. Two medical records that will be added to the existing pile that Stephen keeps in his office," he said.

Artie read Grant's lips because he couldn't hear anything since the explosion, nothing but a buzzing and a continuous hissing. "Yes Sir."

Colonel Henderson nodded. "Major Gordon still can't hear but he can read lips, Sir," he specified. "One of his many talents."

Grant nodded. "What do you recommend for Artemus, Stephen?"

The physician looked at Artemus again and said, "I strongly suggest you to put Artemus out of duty for the next three weeks, Sir – then I'll do another complete medical evaluation to see if he's able to go back in the field again. His latest injuries and wounds have weakened his health – but it's not irreversible. He should recover with lots of rest and doing calm activities only."

Paling, Artie gulped. "Calm activities? What do you mean, Sir? he asked.

Henderson replied. "By that I mean no missions for you, Artemus, until I consider you fit to be in the field again, but a desk job."

Miserable Artie paled a little more and his face crumpled. 'No, not again' he thought.

If Artemus was unhappy, to say the least, President Grant was grinning happily. He would keep Artemus here, out of danger for the next three weeks, offering him the chance to be his personal secretary again he mused. And that position could be permanent, after that, he added in his mind. He was the President, he could do anything. He would give James West a new partner, Jeremy Pike or Frank Harper, two excellent agents. He would eventually adapt.

Pulling out a cigar from the side pocket of his jacket, the President said, "Then, Stephen, Mr. Gordon will be at my side again, as my personal secretary. He did a great job the last time he was assigned to me. And Edwins could take a well-deserved vacation." He paused watching the agent cringe for a split second and he added, "By the way, Artemus, I'm going to award you with a presidential citation for bravery – what you did a week ago was incredibly courageous, and you saved my life, twice. You deserve it."

Artie blushed with both pleasure and pride and he smiled. "Thank you, Sir." Then he again looked like his best friend had died.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. "Come in!" Grant said loudly, and then said best friend entered the vast room. He smiled pleased to see the younger man, as usual. "Ah, Jim! It's good to see you. What brings you here?"

Moving toward a sulking Artemus, Jim replied, "I came here as soon as I learned at the hospital that Artie was here, Mr. President."

President Grant nodded. "He has left the hospital, yes, but he's not in tip-top shape, for all I know. He needs plenty of rest and like Stephen here said, 'calm activities'. So I'm going to keep him at my side, away from field missions, offering the position as my personal secretary again for the next three weeks."

Lowering his head he older agent closed his eyes in resignation. He couldn't say 'I don't want to do that' to the President, his Commander in Chief.

He re-opened them a couple of seconds later, glancing at a point on the portrait of George Washington hanging on the wall in front of him and started his musing.

Grant liked him very much. He had kind of adopted him years before during the war, he thought. He was proud of it, and loved to be close to the ex-General, now President of the United States of America. He loved to be his confidant and a trusted friend, but that strong relationship also was a burden. The more years passed and the more the President was worried about him – noticing that he regularly ended up in hospital. Grant had a father's love for him and wanted to protect him. That's why he was so reluctant to let him continue to be in the field, doing dangerous missions. That's why he had already grounded him here in Washington for that reason – and offered him the job of being his personal secretary – and he didn't want to be stuck at that post a second time. His place was with James West – period. Even if he loved to work at Grant's side, enjoyed Washington life and especially loved the Capital's young and lovely women.

He opened his eyes and swallowed hard, noticing Grant's large satisfied smile – and knew that Grant would keep him here, at his side, forever! He knew it! And he would have no choice but to accept. He had to find a solution to avoid that… without telling Grant he didn't want to be his personal secretary again – and for the rest of Grant's tenure. 'Think old boy, think! Find something! Hurry!'… And after a few seconds, he found a way to be assigned definitively to his partner - and it would work.

Moving closer to the presidential desk Artemus said, "It was a pleasure and a great honor to be your personal secretary, Mr. President, I enjoyed that position a lot, for various reasons, but mainly because I was at your side…"

Suspecting something Grant frowned. "There's a 'but' coming…"

Launching his winning plan, Artie nodded. "Yes Mr. President. But my place is with James West working with him to protect you and this country, and – even if I love working at the White House - my place is not here, Sir, and I don't want to spend the next three weeks here either. I don't want to have any other assignment even a temporary one. I want to be Jim's partner – forever – I mean never leave him, until I get killed or retire and I would much rather die in my bed of old age. If you don't allow me that Mr. President you'll have my letter of resignation from the Secret Service by tonight."

Totally stunned Ulysses S. Grant blinked twice and almost dropped the lit match he was holding as he had just lit his long, fat cigar. "What?"

Starry-eyed Henderson echoed the President, "What?"

Following Artie's brilliant idea, Jim said, "And you will have mine too, Mr. President. You will lose your two best agents tonight, unless you promise not to separate us anymore, for whatever reason, and let Artemus do what he does best, field missions, with me."

The President frowned. "I can't believe it! That's blackmail! You are blackmailing me!" He growled like an angry bear and lit his cigar.

Standing beside Artemus, shoulder against shoulder in a brotherly gesture, Jim added, "You can have us both or lose us both."

He knew that Grant had no other choice but to accept his proposition. He couldn't lose what Colonel Richmond described as his 'best team.' Artie of course knew that too, smart move!' he thought.

His irritation dropping 'like a soufflé' Grant took his cigar out of his mouth, puffed a mini cloud of smoke and raised his hands in the air, defeated. "Alright, alright. I'm not going to discuss this. You win gentlemen. I don't want to lose my two best agents, I need you at my side and this country needs you too." He moved to Artemus and taking his arm in affection he added, "I won't give you any other assignment, I promise. James West and Artemus Gordon will stay together."

Both Artie and Jim grinned in relief – and victory.

Ulysses S. Grant continued, "I have to admit that my intention was to keep you here at my side Artemus, for the next three weeks - and beyond, because I wanted to protect you, and still want to. It's a natural reaction as I have a father's love for you since the war. But it was selfish of me to do that, I realize it now. Even if you were an outstanding personal secretary, like a fish in water here, your place is not here but at Jim's side, even if it means that I'm going to be worried about you again."

Feeling bad, Artie said sheepishly, "I'm sorry, I didn't want to blackmail you… but I had no other choice but to do it to reach my goal, Sir."

Smiling, Grant patted the older agent's shoulder. "You're forgiven and please forgive me - and that was a smart move!"

Smiling, looking at his partner, then at Henderson, Jim said to the medical officer, "I'm going to take Artemus to the Wanderer, Colonel, and he will have plenty of rest. He'll take naps, read books, play chess, play his violin, work on inventions of his… very calm activities, Sir."

President Grant smiled mischievously. "And he will cook too? I'd like to verify that tomorrow evening's okay for dinner, and I love strawberry pie."

The two agents, still shoulder against shoulder both smiled. "It will be a pleasure Sir to have you for dinner, Sir," the said in a chorus, happily.

But first they had to celebrate Grant's decision in the best restaurant in Washington, the 'Coq Gaulois' and then, they would prolong the soirée evening in a cabaret which had just opened where they could meet all the lovely dancers ... Jim thought.

WWW

 _The next night on the Wanderer_

Smiling Artemus raised his glass full of a very old brandy and said, "To the continuing adventures of James West and Artemus Gordon, may they last as long as possible."

Smiling too for the same reasons Jim added, "To blackmail – it works all the time, even with the President of the United States." He chuckled. "We're together again, buddy. No one will ever separate us, not even death because I'm sure we'll die together in order to continue to be together and forever in an afterlife." The he knocked his glass to his best friend's. "Salud".

They both gulped the liquor and Artemus said, "I was thinking about dying of old age in my bed, you know. But I suppose that with our kind of life, it's impossible."

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Jim surprised lifted an eyebrow and turned toward the door of the parlor car. They weren't expecting anyone, let alone at 3 AM.

Frowning, Artie asked, "What is it?"

Pointing at the door Jim said, "There was a knock at the door," And Artie, still temporarily deaf following the explosion read his partner's lips.

They both stood, took a gun from one of the drawers of the dresser, padded toward the door which Jim opened a few seconds later… to an empty rear platform. Or almost. There was a small package sitting there. The person who brought it had hurried away.

Looking around him, Colt in hand the younger agent didn't see anyone – but heard a fast footstep sound that was moving away - and in the background, the hubbub of the city.

He slid his gun in his belt, reached out, took the small package and came back inside, placing it on the work table.

Looking at his partner Jim asked, "What do you think? It's a bomb?"

Reading the other man's lips Artie nodded. "I think so, yes. People don't offer you boxes of chocolates in the middle of the night. Everyone in Washington now knows that I saved the President's life twice, once in stopping two explosive bullets with my bullet proof vest and then by throwing myself on Grant to protect him from an explosion – and I'm sure Polk's ex-Confederate friends would be very happy if I died – along with you Jim – in an explosion on board our train."

He placed his revolver on the coffee table.

Jim nodded. "Hmm, hmm… you're right, or it could come from one of our other mortal enemies, and the first on the list is Dr. Loveless. His elaborate scheme to kill the President failed because of us and every time that happens, he tries to kill us because he's mad at us."

Artie smiled and replied, "Speaking of that. He has to be careful. He could die of ulcers, ulcers brought on by the two of us constantly interfering with his plans!" Then he chuckled. "You imagine that? You would have killed him indirectly."

Pointing at the box Jim asked, "Do I open it?"

Artie took a cautious step back. "Be my guest, Jim." He watched as his best friend took a knife from the drawer of the work table then slowly and gently cut the brown paper. "Be careful."

Nodding, Jim removed the wrapping paper, revealing a wooden box with the golden letters MQL engraved on the lid. "MQL," he said.

Artie sighed. "MQL standing for Miguelito Quixote Loveless. Good guess Jim! It comes from Loveless. So it's a bomb."

He took another cautious step back.

Unfazed Jim opened the box, saying, "Not all Loveless's gifts are bombs, Artie, do you remember that musical box he sent to us?"

Artie nodded, "After we thought he and Antoinette were dead, turned into ashes? Yes, I remember. I almost broke my hand on it trying to open it."

Jim chuckled. "With a karate move. Tsk: tsk!" He found a folded piece of paper inside. He cautiously unwrapped it and discovered two bullets.

Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Artie said, "Bullets?"

Jim took one of the projectiles between his fingertips and noticed the name 'Artemus Gordon' engraved on it and, palm opened, showed it to the other man who took it. "It's for you."

Even more surprised, the older man let out, "For me?"

Jim lifted the other bullet and read, "James West, it's for me." He paused and then added, "I think the message is clear."

Artie nodded. "He wants to kill us." Slumping on the closest couch between Marmalade and Aztec sitting sphinx-style there, he waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Bah! He's not going to scare us with that. He should know by now that none of his threats can scare us, but I guess he can't help it, as it pleases him a lot to threaten to kill us." Moving the bullet upward closer to his eyes to examine it closely, he said, "I wonder if that bullet is an explosive bullet… It looks like an ordinary bullet, but what's inside is different from the ammunition we use. You know Loveless's deadly inventions are really fascinating… like his fake hand which was hiding a gun and a powerful explosive…"

Taking his place on the opposite couch, beside AG rolled in a fluffy ball, Jim nodded. "Fortunately for you Artie, he didn't invent armor-piercing ammunition. You would be dead right now because your bullet proof vest would have been useless."

Sitting on her haunches, Marmie sniffed at the bullet her owner was holding and hissed. Artie petted the cat's head soothingly. "Don't worry, it's not dangerous, not until it's in a gun…"

But the feline disagreed, its back arched and fur on end. Marmalade suddenly pawed the bullet sending it to the carpeted floor where it rolled under the table.

Climbing on Jim's lap, AG imitated Marmie and the bullet with 'James West' engraved on it disappeared under the armchair.

Immediately alarm bells rang in the two men's heads, thinking 'bombs' as they stood. They grabbed the cats and rushed into the galley.

Two seconds later there was an explosion that shook the whole car and volutes of black, acrid smoke invaded the parlor room – heavily damaged again.

Kissing the top of Marmie's head, Artemus said, "Good girl! You saved us…." He smiled when Marmalade rubbed her face against his cheek and saw Jim scratch behind his cat's ears proudly, AG starting to purr loudly. "AG knew too that those bullets where mini time bomb devices… I'm sure they heard the sound of the timer, so tiny it was imperceptible to the human ear – and they have a formidable instinct for danger, better than ours." He lowered Marmie and Aztec to the floor and then moved toward the side of the door. "Well, the dinner with the President is not going to happen."

Petting the black cat's fur, Jim said, "We'll eat your famous strawberry pie later. There are a lot of very good craftsmen in Washington, they'll do a very good job in no time, you'll see."

Nodding, Artie pressed on a button and there was a whirring noise. "And it depends on the amount of damage, but we'll find out very quickly in what state the parlor car is." He paused. "Hear that Jim? A good idea I had to install what I call an 'air extraction system' in the car after we were attacked last month by bandits using smoke bombs." He smiled proud of his invention. "Soon the smoke will be gone." He took the hot pot of coffee he had let on the stove to keep it warm and added, "Loveless has managed to miniaturize noise-less time bombs, I'm impressed. Even I wasn't able to do that, and I consider myself an expert in all kinds of bombs – and I'm jealous too." He pouted.

Placing a soothing hand on Artie's shoulder seeing that Artie was a bit upset, Jim said, "Don't be, you're a better inventor that he is." Settling AG on a stool, he added, "Once again our parlor is damaged… But at least we won't have to go to sleep in a fort."

Pouring coffee into the two mugs, Artie said, "True, and eat abominable food! But it won't be possible for me to take naps when the workers are there to do the repairs…"

Seeing a glint in Artemus's gentle chocolate eyes, saying 'I have a wonderful idea', Jim asked, "Then was do you propose?"

Artemus took a sip and replied, "I was thinking that we could to ask for hospitality from the Harlington sisters during the repairs ... Clara has a very comfortable bed to take naps ... among other things." Then he smiled broadly, his eyes twinkling, planning 'other things' with her. "And the last time you saw Abigael, her sister, you spent hours in her boudoir ... does she have a bed there?"

Jim responded with a broad smile.

The end.


End file.
